


Kaz Stathdak

by Temve



Series: Irdakverse [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Clones, F/M, Force Ghost Qui-Gon Jinn, Irdak - Freeform, M/M, The Force Ships It, Zabraks (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:15:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27582602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Temve/pseuds/Temve
Summary: Master Kenobi grapples with sending his Padawan on a mission while doing his best to not send his headstrong lover on a mission too.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Other(s), Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: Irdakverse [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1974295
Comments: 15
Kudos: 22





	1. Charting

**Author's Note:**

> kaz = clever, innovative  
> stath = navigator  
> dak = flow
> 
> This time, not all of the title is my own made-up version of Zabrak, and I was particularly pleased that _-dak_ appears to be a Zabrak name component at least in one other person’s headcanon. I totally just called him Irdak because that’s what he looked like to me *shrug*
> 
> The non-con warning applies to a single scene, and is marked by chapter notes before it happens so if you would like to avoid that scene you can do so without losing the plot.
> 
> Anyway, welcome to the third Irdakverse arc. If you’re still here that means you’ve been through quite a lot with our boy and his disaster family already and you’re still reading. Which… wow. I’m humbled. Thank you!
> 
> As ever, I am indebted to tornado_fox for questions, answers, and art (here is her [Tumblr](https://ins0mnia-dreams.tumblr.com/) and [Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/ins0mnia/posts))!

“Captain Typho, I presume?”

The security officer jerked to attention, visibly uncomfortable at having been caught to all intents and purposes napping. Although given how his day had gone so far, that was utterly excusable. The antechamber of his employer’s Senatorial offices was probably not the most comfortable of places to relax, but almost certainly qualified as safe for the time being. And the new arrival was a Jedi. Typho relaxed his shoulders minutely and struggled out of the armchair.

“Indeed. I assume you are the Jedi detail?” He glanced surreptitiously over the young man’s shoulder. “I must admit I hadn’t expected a single person.”

The Jedi sighed. “It will probably not come as a surprise to you, Captain, that our forces are stretched a little thin during this time of unrest in the Galaxy… but I will be happy to assure you on behalf of the High Council that I will perform my duties with the utmost dedication and skill.” He sketched a bow.

“I can’t help noticing you wear the apprentice braid.” Typho’s eyes narrowed, and the Jedi smiled at his counterpart’s perspicacity.

“True,” he countered. “Though I assure you that that will not be the case for very much longer if this assignment is a success. It may even be,” he added with a conspiratorial whisper, “that this is the last thing I do as a Padawan Learner.”

“Very well.” Typho knew when to stop pressing a point, and this seemed to be it. If the Jedi saw fit to send him an apprentice, then he’d better accept if he didn’t want to risk being left with no outside assistance. 

“If it’s any help,” the Jedi added softly, “I requested to be sent on this assignment. The Senator and I have met before.” There was that smile again, and Typho had to force himself to keep his own lips in check to stop himself from answering it while he racked his brain for any Jedi in the Senator’s history. He’d only taken over his post recently so it should all still be fresh in his mind, except it had all been _reading_ and none of it had involved smiling braided Jedi staring at him.

“Kenobi…?” he hazarded, and the Jedi’s smile split into a grimace.

“Master Kenobi sends his regards,” the young Jedi assured him smoothly. “He hopes to join us as soon as his own duties allow. For now, you will have to make do with his humble apprentice.” Another bow, this one not entirely devoid of irony. “Anakin Skywalker at your service, Captain.”

Typho swallowed. “Very well. You’ll want to see the Senator, I assume?”

Anakin raised his eyebrows. “She is still working?”

Typho nodded. “We’ve all been a bit rattled by this morning’s incident. It’s not often that you find yourself in the center of an explosion upon arrival. At least not... in times of supposed peace.”

Anakin nodded. He had almost certainly seen more action in his young life than the Captain of the Naboo Security Volunteers. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he offered gently, with a slight touch of Force behind it. 

Typho sighed gratefully. “She didn’t suffer. Ripped her lungs right to shreds and stopped her heart. Still… she was a valuable aide, and… Gods, it makes me furious that we even _need_ to employ decoys in this line of work. I mean… a fucking _Senator_ from a backwater world such as ours? What… I mean, what other than mindless terror can you gain from an attack like that?”

“That is partly what I am here to find out.” Typho knew he shouldn’t feel so relieved at finding a fellow security professional’s hand on his shoulder but he did, and he leaned into the touch gratefully as the Jedi continued in soothing tones. “If you would like to stick around until the Senator is ready to speak to me, that’s fine. Otherwise… it looks like you could use some sleep.”

Was that another Force suggestion? Typho couldn’t be sure any longer. The pool of stale adrenaline in his system was deepening by the minute, calling him, enticing him to let himself fall into the welcome arms of sleep. 

“I suppose,” he said weakly. “Hold on.” He hit a button on the comm unit on the deserted desk that would have been staffed by a Senatorial aide during normal business hours. “Senator Amidala?”

The voice on the other end of the line sounded weary but alert. “Yes, Captain?”

“Your Jedi security detail is here. Permission to retire?”

“Granted.” A warm sigh. “I shouldn’t be far behind you… I’m just finishing off. Let them in, and I’ll see you in the morning, Captain. Thank you.”

Typho briefly debated the wisdom of informing the Senator that the Jedi security detail consisted of a single Jedi but thought better of it. She had eyes to see. And perhaps, just perhaps, this single Jedi would look like more in her eyes. Seeing as they apparently had history.

“I’ll excuse myself,” he said wearily, gesturing at the door to Senator Amidala’s office. “It’s unlocked now, and she’s expecting you.”

“Thank you,” Anakin said simply. “Good night.”

The door opened at a slight push of his hand; mechanical, not electronic, as befitted the ancient nature of the Galactic Senate. The office seemed to be a standard Senatorial chamber, consisting of large amounts of unused space designed to intimidate or at least impress; at this hour of night, the tall ceilings and cavernous space served only to show off Coruscant’s unsteady nightly shadowplay as traffic flitted by outside the large bank of windows. The only source of light in the room was suspended above a large desk in the far corner of the room, illuminating a state-of-the-art secure communications terminal, a series of portable comm and file storage devices, and an earnest young woman with severely pulled back hair dividing her attention between them, punching a message into a handheld while monitoring whatever was on the larger screen mounted on her desktop array.

“Apologies, Master Jedi. I will be with you shortly. Have a seat if you can find one in this dim cavern.” Her voice was warm despite the edge of weariness. From what Anakin had been told in his hurried briefing, the Senator had watched her lookalike aide die in her arms only hours before. The fact that she was even working betrayed a strength worthy of a Jedi.

She was also, even in light of her recent trauma and in light of the terrible overhead desk lamp, a beautiful human being.

“Not a Master yet,” Anakin said lightly, hoping to add a little levity to the Senator’s trying day. “Your chief of security grilled me on that already. But I think you of all people might have a pretty good handle on what senior Jedi apprentices are capable of.”

The Senator looked up with a slight frown, clearly trying to make out the face of the lone Jedi stationed at the far end of her chambers. He did her the favor of stepping forward into the cone of light cast by her desk lamp. “Padawan Anakin Skywalker at your service, your Excellency.”

“Ani… I mean, Anakin? _You_?” She almost dropped her portable comm in her hurry to get up and get a closer look. “My goodness. You’re a fully grown Jedi!” She shook her head, suppressing a laugh. “I’m sorry. Listen to me cooing like some doting grandmother.”

“You’ve had a trying day,” Ankin replied warmly. “And I’m sorry for your loss, Senator.”

“Please, call me Padme. If you will. For old time’s sake.”

“With pleasure. And I will answer to Anakin.” A light wince. “Not Ani though… I’ve outgrown that one.”

“Indeed you have.” She allowed a smile of pure joy to flit across her features. “Goodness, it’s good to see you again. I’d been wondering about you from time to time, you know… but never enough to actually track down Master Kenobi and make enquiries.”

“He sends his regards,” Anakin replied. “And he probably wouldn’t tell you this but he’s done a stellar job making sure I don’t go completely rogue. I should be ready for my Knighting by the end of the year. Sooner if this assignment goes well.”

“That’s wonderful, Anakin! And I never would have doubted your allegiance to the Light and narrow… not with Master Kenobi to watch your every step.” She grinned. “I think things might have gone a little easier for both of you if Master Jinn had lived, no?”

Anakin snorted. “You don’t know the half of it, Sen… I mean, Padme.” He paused dramatically, waiting for the Senator’s full attention. “We are currently living with roughly 168% of Qui-Gon Jinn, plus or minus a few depending on fluctuations in the Force.”

“What?” Padme shook her head. “You’re kidding me.”

“Not one bit,” Anakin replied lightly. “Master Jinn has taken to showing up in… well, ghost format for want of a better word. Master Obi-Wan can see and hear him, and I suspect he can probably touch him too.” He grimaced. “I try not to think about that part too much. Anyway, I can talk to him too if I focus, and so can Master Yoda. And, obviously, Irdak.”

“Irdak?”

“The other 68%.”

“Of…?”

Anakin grinned. “Picture, if you will, a genetically engineered clone consisting of 68% Qui-Gon Jinn and 32% Zabrak cell cultures. Now picture him about two years older than me, even more of a trouble magnet than me, covered in tattoos, and… oh yeah, he’s Master Obi-Wan’s boyfriend.”

The Senator gaped. 

“Master Obi-Wan has really gotten good at dealing with _two_ rogue droid mechanics in his little disaster family. And two portions of Jinnian stubbornness.” Anakin shrugged. “I think we’ve made him a better Jedi by virtue of just existing in his general orbit. The amount of internal negotiation is quite staggering.”

“You… but… how do the Jedi even allow this?” Padme still hadn’t fully closed her mouth. “I mean, you’re calling yourselves a _family_? Isn’t that the last thing the Jedi are seeking? Attachment to others?”

“Pretty much.” Anakin shrugged. “I think it helps to have Grandmaster Yoda in your lineage somewhere. And when the Negotiator and his oh-so-gifted apprentice are both threatening to leave the Order over an attachment to a horny bastard who is basically a copy of one of their revered Masters… let’s just say the negotiations were short.”

Padme raised an eyebrow. “You don’t seem overly fond of your… brother?”

“Oh, no.” Anakin grinned. “‘Horny bastard’ is an honorific as far as he’s concerned. I mean, he’s got actual horns. And is a crossbreed of two different species. We get along just fine. I’ve taught him most of what he knows about droids, and…” an eloquent shrug. “It’s nice to have an idiot brother around sometimes. Especially one who can loosen up your Master when needed.”

“That is…” Padme swallowed, and Anakin had to suppress a grin at her obvious blush at the idea of Obi-Wan Kenobi being ‘loosened up’ in that way. It was a look he had become familiar with in his years as Obi-Wan’s apprentice, and it never got old. 

“Loud,” Anakin added, relishing the deepened blush on the Senator’s delicate features. “And Irdak’s still not very good at controlling his Force abilities. Stuff breaks sometimes when they go at it.” He shrugged. “We’re working on it. I’ve had to construct a whole new level of shielding around my parts lab. I mean, the storage closet in my room. Shit, I should probably have activated the new locking algorithm before I came out here.” He rubbed his forehead. “I imagine things will have been… repurposed by the time I get back.”

“I’m sorry,” Padme laughed. “Do you need to take an emergency trip back to the Temple to… set things in order?”

“Nah,” Anakin replied. “The stuff he comes up with usually makes for good stories. He’s got a bit of a trade going in tattooing droids with nearly pain-free vibroblades. The Zabrak community at Temple doesn’t know whether to love or hate him for that but they’re certainly good customers.”

Padme smiled. “I suspect that part is going to take me a little while to digest, Anakin.” She exhaled deeply, and Anakin wondered whether that was the sound of a years-long crush on Master Obi-Wan collapsing in on itself. “But I am pleased to hear that you are happy, and doing well. And I look forward to meeting your… family when this situation is under control.”

“You plan to stay planetside, then?”

“Certainly.” The steel in her voice was back with a vengeance. “The vote on the creation of a Republic army was only adjourned, not dismissed. All is not lost, and I foresee a lot of work ahead, and not very much time to do it in, if we are to prevent the Republic from sliding into all-out war.” She fixed him with a cool gaze. “My place is here, in service to my people. Here where I have a vote. You may have to follow me around for quite a while, Anakin.”

“It will be an honor,” Anakin replied smoothly. “And a pleasure,” he added with a smile.

***

“Hey, I’m home to wreak havoc… and take a shower. I stink.” Irdak wrinkled his nose at his own armpit and briefly debated unknotting the top half of his work overalls from around his waist and covering his mostly bare upper body with them. Except they were likely to be similarly saturated with the stench of unlawfully superannuated lubricant and a sweaty part-Zabrak attempting to coax the machinery that had spewed said lubricant at him back into functioning.

“Hard day at work?” Obi-Wan hazarded, peering out of the bedroom, uncommonly fully dressed in boots and outer robe.

“I suppose that’s what you get when you insist on not doing customer service ever again. They throw the hard stuff at you.”

Obi-Wan grinned, poking a playful fist at his lover’s bare chest. “And I’m sure it bounced right off you, spice boy.”

“You wouldn’t be able to tell,” Irdak deadpanned. “Zabrak skin doesn’t bruise.”

“I’ll be happy to give you a thorough once-over later tonight,” Obi-Wan quipped. “Council first.”

Irdak frowned. “Seriously? They’re calling you in for an emergency meeting _again_?”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “New year, same old story. And I suppose as Anakin’s Master I am somehow involved with this whole Senator-of-Naboo situation.”

“Speaking of Anakin… any word from my idiot brother?”

“You mean, our future Knight Skywalker?” The amusement in Obi-Wan’s voice was palpable despite the sharply raised eyebrow. “They appear to have finally found quarters for him at the Senate building, closer to his protectee.”

“Closer? Last time you told me he was sleeping on the floor outside her quarters!”

“His choice, not hers. Anyway, I’m sure he’ll acquit himself most honorably.” A wink. “And yes, he was very happy to see the Senator again. Still…” a sigh. “I don’t expect to see much of him for at least a couple more days, or until the Senator sees fit to leave Coruscant. Dinner for two, it seems.”

He planted a quick kiss on Irdak’s cheek, wrinkled his own nose comically at the smell, and strode out of their quarters to yet another Council meeting.

***

“Kamino, you say?”

“Yes, Master Yoda.” Mace Windu sounded exasperated, which was all that was visible in the dim light, the artificial illumination of the Council chamber having been deactivated in deference to Master Jinn’s faintly glowing presence. “You would probably have enjoyed the atmosphere considerably more than our man on the ground. Or his comm equipment. Anyway, the salient point being that there is in fact an army _in production_ as we speak, and the ones doing the producing are under the impression that they are doing so on behalf of the _Jedi_.”

“Harrumph. Stopping them, there is not, I take it?”

“Negative,” Windu replied. “We are talking sentient life forms here - boys, not to put too fine a point on it. Accelerated growth or not, these guys cannot simply be ‘stopped’. And even if we manage to avert going to war, we would find ourselves with an army of teenage clones trained in warfare. And precious little else.”

“Good traffic police they would make,” Yoda replied drily. “Need that, Coruscant does.” He sighed. “Joking aside, though… if the Jedi, it was not, then who?”

“And that’s where the plot thickens,” Mace replied grimly. “Master Nendar managed to track an… individual associated with the production to a facility on the planet of Geonosis. From what he was able to intercept without attracting too much attention to himself, it would appear that the Separatists are at the very least aware of this army, or planning some kind of summit in response.”

“All our supposed enemies in one place?” Agen Kolar interjected hotly. “Catch them red-handed, I say! Stop this in its tracks!”

Windu shook his head gravely, not deigning to gratify the most recent appointee to the High Council with a direct reply. _If I’d known how much of my troubles would come with horns…_ He didn’t finish the thought. Outlawing Zabraks was a decidedly un-Jedi-like impulse, and he worried that at least the spectral apparition of Master Jinn would be able to overhear his thoughts.

“We should,” he began slowly after calming his impulses, “consider infiltrating the summit, however. Master Nendar was fairly adamant that there will be good solid evidence of wrongdoing available to use against them and shut them down in a more… legal and permanent fashion. Plans, files, weapons specs.” He rubbed his temples. “Master Nendar was also fairly adamant that he was unlikely to achieve this without attracting undue suspicion.”

“How so?” Agen Kolar clearly wasn’t done with his train of thought.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, Master Kolar, one of the heads of the Separatist faction is one of our own… well, formerly. One of the Lost Twenty. _Master Dooku_ would almost certainly sense a Jedi presence at a kilometer away.”

“So we would have to send a spy. A non-Jedi spy. Surely we can muster that?” Kolar’s frown was tangible, and not just because it had horns.

“Do you have any sugg- oh.” 

Windu stopped mid-sentence, and his eyes went wide, comically so in the dim chamber. “You just gave me an _idea_ , Kolar.” The white of Windu’s eyes was joined by the white of his teeth as he grinned broadly. “A non-Jedi spy. Who wouldn’t raise any suspicion with the Separatists. Who could charm his way into anything and not… tie up a valuable Jedi resource.” In deference to Master Kenobi’s presence in the room, he did not say the word _expendable_ , but it was a close call. 

“Master Kenobi,” he said sweetly, only a hint of menace in his voice. “I think we may have found a way for your… lover to repay his debt to the Jedi Order.”

“His _debt_?” Obi-Wan’s voice rang out loudly in the darkened chamber. “Master, I must object in the strongest possible terms. Irdak has been a valuable member of the Temple community since the day he was allowed to join me here after his… initial ordeal. There is no way I will consent to sending him on a spy mission that he is not trained to perform!”

“May I remind you, Master Kenobi,” Windu rejoined softly, “that the fact that he was allowed to join you was one of rather a few exceptions that you have been enjoying? Rather more, in fact, and certainly more novel in nature, than would be the norm for a Jedi of your rank?”

“May I remind you, Master Windu,” Obi-Wan replied hotly, “that you were the one who wanted him out of our lives entirely before he had even regained consciousness? I question your judgment of Irdak’s character, and I reiterate that I will not consent to sending him on this mission!”

“Quiet, you will be,” Yoda interjected, surprisingly quietly. “Someone else, we should ask, hmm?”

“We are not pulling Irdak into this!” That reply had come, simultaneously, from Obi-Wan and Mace Windu, though worded slightly differently and for entirely different reasons.

“Harrumph.” Yoda waited for the general commotion to die down, then said gently, “Master Jinn, your opinion I would like to hear. Close to both sides of this mission, you are.” Yoda closed his eyes and opened his ears wide, and those in the Council Chamber attuned enough to Qui-Gon’s presence did the same.

//I will not presume to have any insight into the man who was once my Master,// Qui-Gon said gravely. //And I certainly share the feelings of the man who was once my apprentice.// A warm blue glow directed at Obi-Wan. //I have only one thought to contribute to this discussion, and that is that even if we were to send Irdak on a spying mission of any sort, successful or not, there is no universe in which that would not result in both Master Kenobi and Padawan Skywalker setting heaven and earth in motion to go after him.//

“Defeat the purpose, that would.” Yoda decreed. “Family, they have become.” A deep sigh. “Good for them, it has certainly been. Not so good for our plans.”

“Can we ask Master Nendar for advice on local resources?” Obi-Wan cut in. “While we activate our own contacts within City Security and the various civilian agencies, I mean? Surely it can’t be impossible to find someone who is capable and willing to work for the Jedi without being one?” The relief in his voice was audible, and it had somewhat opened the floodgates. “I mean, I will be happy to rope in Dex and his unofficial network if it helps…”

“ _If_ it helps,” Mace replied sourly. “We don’t have much time. According to Master Nendar’s information, the summit participants are already on their way so we have forty-eight hours at best until we need to have someone on the ground. Someone _invisible_. Someone trained in _customer service_.” The barbs cut, but Obi-Wan forced himself to keep his composure. 

Seeing Qui-Gon place a ghostly hand on Mace’s tight shoulder helped relieve the tension a bit.

//Let us all evaluate our options and reconvene when we have done so.//

“Mid-day tomorrow,” Yoda said decisively. “Homework, we have. Adjourned, the meeting is.”

***

“You talked about _me_?” Irdak frowned over a forkful of mashed gourd loaded with an unholy amount of assorted dairy products. “What have I done _now_ to deserve the Sithdamned Council’s attention?”

Obi-Wan smiled. “Fed one of the Order’s more renowned swordsmen a dinner that is apt to make him collapse in a food coma, mostly.”

“I have ways and means of making you burn off those calories,” Irdak replied with a smirk. “Just saying.” 

His expression sobered. “No, seriously though. What’s stuck in their collective craw this time? Did Master Set complain about my performance? Because I certainly haven't heard any complaints that would be High Council material. And I’ve been keeping myself from getting kidnapped or going on unsanctioned missions of self-discovery for almost a year now. Surely that’s worth a commendation from the Council for acting like an adult?” He shoved another forkful in his mouth and glared at Obi-Wan in lieu of the shadowy Jedi at the top of the central spire who were, it seemed, once again intent on making his life difficult. 

Obi-Wan couldn’t help smiling at his lover’s righteous indignation. “Actually, they were considering sending you on a mission. Count yourself lucky that Master Jinn and I interceded on your behalf and saved you from being Master Windu’s glorified cannon fodder.”

“I... what kind of mission?” For a moment, wide-eyed and smooth-skinned, Irdak looked so much younger than his twenty-one standard years. “I mean, obviously I’m a lover, not a fighter. And I fix droids.”

“Most of all, you’re not a Jedi,” Obi-Wan replied. “That was the linchpin of the story. I’ve told you about the Separatist faction forming in the Outer Rim, right?”

“The ones led by Master Jinn’s old Master?”

“The same. They are gathering forces - well, heads anyway, for some sort of summit on Geonosis.”

Irdak’s eyebrow quirked up. “You’re not supposed to tell me this, I’m fairly certain.”

“I imagine top secret classification no longer applies when you were the one they were going to chew up in this one,” Obi-Wan replied bitterly. “Anyway, Windu who’s always had an issue with your presence here bald-faced suggested that _you_ should be the one to saunter into Count Dooku’s lair and extract whatever information you could from the assorted summit participants. Purely because you’re not a Jedi and because you’re trained in _customer service_.”

Irdak mulled this over for a bite or two, then replied quietly, “That, Obi-Wan, is putting it mildly.”

Obi-Wan blinked.

“I would agree that that is my one great talent.” He shrugged. “Not being a Jedi. Being sociable. Not looking like anyone of importance. Slipping in. Seducing, even.” A pale blunt finger shot up to forestall Obi-Wan’s reply. “You of all people should know that.” 

Obi-Wan shook his head angrily. “I can’t believe you’re even suggesting that.”

“Obi-Wan. Love. This is the only way I can help our cause, and I can’t blame the Jedi for finally agreeing with me. I feel… a little flattered actually.”

“Well, it’s no matter,” Obi-Wan replied decisively, “because you’re not going on any solo mission any time soon. I won’t have it.”

Irdak frowned, a forkful of mash halfway to his mouth, forgotten. “Since when do you get to decide for me?”

“I didn’t say you weren’t going on _any_ mission, did I?” Obi-Wan’s smile was tinged with a slight bitterness, but the laugh lines around his eyes crinkled with mirth. “Damn, I wish I hadn’t started the conversation this way because I think you’re going to like what I have to say next.”

“Oh?” Irdak’s lips thinned, dinner forgotten. “Hit me. Zabraks don’t bruise.”

Obi-Wan shook his head, snorting. “We are due to leave on a mission to Rodia tomorrow night. And yes, _we_ means you and I this time. Anakin will be on bodyguard duty for the Senator from Naboo for quite a while longer, plus he’s about ready to take the Trials anyway so it makes sense to let him make his own decisions for once.” He paused for as much of a brilliant smile as he could muster. “And I’ve managed to pull rank and get you assigned to a tech position on my ship. You’re coming with me.”

Irdak’s eyes went wide, and before he knew it, Obi-Wan found himself with a lapful of very eager tattooed limbs, hands buried in his long hair, and a mouth that appeared intent on separating his lips from the rest of his body.

“So you approve of this plan?” Obi-Wan said when he was finally allowed to come up for air.

“It’s a fine fallback solution,” Irdak smirked. “And I get to make sure you don’t run away.” He circled Obi-Wan’s neck with a finger, mimicking a collar, before running his fingers through Obi-Wan’s hair. When he tightened his broad hand into a fist and pulled, Obi-Wan went willingly, exposing his throat to the eager mouth of his impossible lover. 

“Shame you’re so obviously a Jedi, actually,” Irdak murmured between kisses and nips, “I could picture some _delightful_ undercover options for you. That head of ginger hair… braided nicely… oh, and nothing else in terms of clothing to distract from the lines of your awesome body… people would forget about Incredible Irdak in a heartbeat.”

Obi-Wan found his dismissive snort summarily swallowed by a pair of insistent lips, and he could not bring himself to mind that at all.


	2. Plotting

The sun was already low in the sky, striping the bare walls of their quarters with pale yellow light through the partly-drawn blinds, when Obi-Wan finally returned from the Council chamber. It didn’t take much light to determine that the meeting had not yielded the hoped-for result; even in the absence of any illumination, Irdak would have been able to trace Obi-Wan’s frustration in the frown line between his brows.

“Four hours and no answers?” he hazarded.

Obi-Wan nodded grimly. “It took that long to get to the bottom of everyone’s barrels, it would seem. In the end, we were just running out of time. Anyone local to here would have to pretty much leave tonight to make it in time, and then… well, none of the options we turned up passed muster.” He sighed. “So we’re going to have to go with Master Nendar observing from a safe distance and possibly charming his way into the local service industry for a pair of extra eyes.”

Irdak snorted. “I take it you didn’t reiterate my offer to help?”

Obi-Wan’s frown darkened a shade. “You still thinking about that? And no, I didn’t. Your place is on my ship. Soon to be on Rodia for a round of trade talks.”

“I assume I’m not going to be allowed at those.” A statement, not a question.

“True, but having me home in whatever accommodation we end up with at the end of the day is surely better than nothing. After all the complaining you’ve been doing about being left alone at Temple, you’d better be enthusiastic about this one, young man.”

Irdak smirked at the affectation of sternness in Obi-Wan’s voice. That tone had stopped working on Anakin years ago, and it had never really done anything for Irdak. Not that he minded the hint of dominance, but purely as an accessory spice to their love life, and not in a way that would actually make him do anything Obi-Wan said. And Obi-Wan knew that only too well. 

“Still,” Irdak offered brightly, “we’ll be out from under the cloud of Master Windu’s stinky mood for a few days, right? That’s got to count for something.”

“I think we would all sleep better if we knew the Separatists weren’t plotting our downfall behind our very backs, and in our own name no less. Still, Nendar knows what he’s doing… and we’ll know soon enough.”

“Hm.” Irdak contemplated a pair of fuzzy socks in his one hand and a pair of woven slippers in the other, weighing his options, and finally deciding to ask Obi-Wan’s opinion. He held them up, watched the frown line on his lover’s face flicker on and off, and duly noted Obi-Wan’s preference for the slippers. 

“Acceptable for public spaces,” Obi-Wan explained curtly. “You’re mostly packed otherwise?” 

“Mostly,” Irdak replied.

In truth, he had been completely packed and prepared for several hours, his relatively organized collection of civilian clothes neatly stashed inside a travel case, and he had spent the last quarter hour ostensibly shuffling things back and forth in an effort to appear busy. 

It afforded him plenty of unobserved moments while Obi-Wan was rummaging through his own clothing, and one of those was more than enough to place a brief text comm message. 

_Message ID: 13248ut9sd-16:32:04-ubs_  
_From: (e) Jinnobi, Irdak_  
_To: (c) Windu, Mace_  
_Master Windu,_  
_If my assistance with the Geonosian matter is still welcome, my offer stands. I would require any briefing beyond what Master Kenobi already has, and transport to rendezvous with ours on the way to Rodia. Master Kenobi is NOT aware, and I trust that will remain that way._  
_Sincerely, IJ._

Smiling at the irony of the most public communications method available to him also being the most secret when it came to Obi-Wan, Irdak hit ‘send’, then turned off the message waiting signal and walked purposefully back into the bedroom.

“You’re bringing _that_?” Obi-Wan appeared surprised more than irritated, which as far as Irdak was concerned was a good thing. Not that he had a habit of blushing, or even the physiological ability to do so, but a distraction from what he had just done was probably in order.

“I was considering it,” Irdak replied innocently, holding up the transparent blue long-sleeved top and peering through it into the sunset. “Why? Too risqué, you think?”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “I just haven’t seen you wear it in ages, that’s all. As for showing off your tattoos to an entire diplomatic function, I call veto rights on your choice of outerwear once I’ve gotten the lay of the land. Sorry.”

“Understood.” Irdak grinned. “No diplomatic incidents on my account, sir. But I thought I’d give myself the option of something other than work overalls and my one Jedi kit. Just in case I get to socialize with exciting new off-planet friends.”

Obi-Wan snorted. “Don’t get your hopes up. Diplomatic missions are mostly a lot of waiting around decoratively. Usually while others are talking.”

“Works for me. I can be decorative with the best of them.” He shook his mane, then laughed at himself for the exaggerated gesture. “Sorry. Still not used to it being so short.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “Your choice, not mine. I continue to maintain that if a Jedi’s lifestyle can sustain long hair, so can a droid mechanic’s.”

Irdak sketched a slap to Obi-Wan’s ear. “Don’t tell me _you’re_ fully used to having long hair yet, _Master Kenobi_. If I didn’t untangle it for you on a nightly basis you’d be sporting dreadlocks in no time at all. And given that I only have so much time each day for hair care…” he shrugged, “I’d rather spend it taking care of yours.” The lopsided smile made him look so much like Qui-Gon that Obi-Wan had to blink a few times to get the images to untangle in his mind. Although really, that smile meant ‘beloved’ in any format.

Irdak took his smile back to the common room, ostensibly to maneuver the skimpy blue top into his already fairly full travel case. Even without a message waiting signal, and even with only the most basic of Force training under his belt, he definitely sensed something was afoot. 

_Message ID: 8f64s9ad91-16:38:12-ubs_  
_From: (c) Windu, Mace_  
_To: (e) Jinnobi, Irdak_  
_Irdak,_  
_Desperate times call for desperate measures, and your assistance is greatly appreciated. Full briefing is being prepared, file to be delivered before you touch down. Expect unmarked transport during second half of ship’s artificial night cycle. This remains between you and I but be assured of the gratitude of the Council. Further comm later. M_

Keeping his elation out of his step was an exercise in self-control, as was trying not to suddenly appear a whole inch taller. 

The man staring back at him from the bathroom mirror was a far cry from the blank-minded youth who had washed up downstairs at the Healers’ Ward a little over two years ago. Irdak finger-brushed his growing mop of wavy brown hair over one eye, dashingly exposing the broken horn with its handmade silver prosthetic. 

_Irdak Jinnobi, Jedi spy._ It had a ring to it. He would have to see about proper attire once he got back from this one. Black, probably. Well-cut. Definitely something to cover up his tattoos. He sighed. As far as he was concerned, his skin was among the more prominent features of his arsenal, but that part would have to wait until he had actually managed to infiltrate the place. For now, he had a lot of time to practice waiting around decoratively without betraying his mission.

 _His mission._ He added a lopsided smile to the reflection in the mirror.

Behind him, a faint blue glow matched his smile, a mix of concern and pride flickering in the Force.

***

_T minus 14 hours_

“You the new guy?” The question came from the mouth of a young human, quite a bit shorter than Irdak and undeniably quite a bit louder. Her overalls denoted her as one of the technical crew on the ship they had literally just walked on to, and her bluish-black hair stood up in spikes that could only be described as aggressive. Obi-Wan had disappeared to discuss something with the pilots and had motioned for Irdak to leave the baggage with him. So here he was, the new guy.

“Looks like I am,” he replied with a smile. “Irdak Jinnobi, pleased to meet you.”

“Kinz.” She decidedly wasn’t reacting to Irdak’s proffered hand, and it took him a bewildered moment to realize that the syllable she had just spat at him was probably not a curse but her name. “Can’t say the same about me unfortunately. But hey, here you are.”

Irdak raised his eyebrows. “Sorry to hear that,” he said, somewhat nonplussed. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Stay off my turf. I didn’t ask for you to be assigned here, and I’m pretty sure who did, and what _services_ you’re getting a free ride for. News travels when you work for the Jedi, kid. And news with _horns_ sticks out. Anyway, leave the real work to the real techs and we’ll all get along just fine.” She leveled a piercing blue-green stare at him. “And don’t even think about touching any of the big guns.” 

“Noted,” he replied, taken aback. “If… it’s any help, I’ve got quite a bit of experience with transport tech, comm kit and the odd medical droid?”

Kinz snorted, wrinkling her stubby nose. “Stick to the small stuff, beanstalk. Temple shop, yeah? Would have been surprised if you’d touched any real weaponry in your life, kid.”

“I haven’t, actually.” He shrugged. “Not much call for that at Temple.”

Kinz sneered. “I bet. I was gonna make a joke about the Jedi not letting you touch their lightsabers but I suspect touching a Jedi’s lightsaber is exactly what landed you this job, isn’t it? Disgusting.” She spat on the floor, missing Irdak’s boot by a centimeter. “And here I am working my ass off to get ahead, and then _this_ walks in.” She shook her head. “Anyway, if you’re not scared of my little companion here,” she hefted her sidearm from its holster on her thigh and relished the badly-concealed little shock that ran through Irdak’s body as she pointed it at him, “I’ll show you around. Can’t have you getting lost in here because guess who would have to dig your sorry ass out of whatever cargo hold you manage to lock yourself in? Yeah. Come on, kid… what was your name again? Derak?”

“Irdak.”

“Hm.” She strode on ahead, not waiting for him to catch up. “Those horns real by the way? Because you’re the lamest Zabrak I’ve ever met.”

For the next interminable half hour, Irdak had ample opportunity to put his rudimentary Jedi training to good use - partly in generating a mental map of the ship as Kinz strode along its meandering corridors and serviceways, but largely, it had to be said, in maintaining a civil demeanor as she talked down to him from a foot below his eye level, each fact-crammed exposé on any of the ship’s weapons systems garnished with a snide remark about Irdak’s own manhood, all but designed to make him explode at the indignity and in all probability get himself thrown off the ship before she would have to actually stoop so low as to work with him.

 _If I were anything like a full-blooded Zabrak, I would probably have killed her by now_ , Irdak thought miserably. _Or died trying anyway._

“And this concludes our little tour. I don’t expect you to remember all of that so let’s just cut to the executive summary: guns are _my_ turf, and you stay off them. Understood?”

“Perfectly.” Irdak sighed. “Allow me one question though, if I may.”

“What?”

“Given how much you appear to be excited by the company of big guns, and how well-informed you appear to be about my… professional qualifications, I’m a little amazed you haven’t propositioned me yet.”

Okay, that _was_ a curse. Followed by a flying vibrospanner. Luckily for him, Kinz was far less good at basic missiles than at the advanced weaponry she professed to love so much.

_Fourteen hours. I can survive fourteen hours._

***

_T minus 9 hours_

It was decidedly not coming loose.

Wiping a bead of sweat off his brow and in the process probably smearing a streak of dirty grease across his face, Irdak sighed, then gathered his strength and applied as much leverage as possible. Which was quite a bit considering the length of his arms, but failed to produce any noticeable results. 

Quietly, he wondered to himself if this project had been the one that the ship’s crew had kept stashed away ‘for later’ in some cargo hold somewhere until they had time to deal with it, or, as the case might be, inflict it on some unsuspecting new coworker. The sheer amount of congealed grease on the repulsorlift’s bulbous casing should have made the screws turn easily, except between its putty-like consistency and the weirdly streamlined design, not to mention the barely-legible safety warnings pasted all over its exterior, Irdak suspected that this piece of gear had in fact not been in use for several decades.

Still, that’s what modern tools were for. Sighing, he put down the good old-fashioned wrench and rummaged in the standard-issue toolkit they had seen fit to supply him with for a vibrospanner. The vibrations should shake whatever gunk was obstructing the screws loose in no time, and once he was inside the casing the rest should be child’s play. The older the technology, the simpler. Ah, here. It was a little larger than what he was used to, but the shape was unmistakable. He set the spanner around the recalcitrant screw, tightened its jaws, and flipped the activation switch.

“Sith!” 

He shook his hand violently as if that would help dispel the sizzling numbness that was zinging around his hand and up his arm, mercifully petering out before it could arc across either of his hearts. _Electric shock. What the -_

He peered suspiciously at the vibrospanner, still clamped to the offending screw, and quietly, weakly, vibrating away. He cast around for a dry rag, and finding none, slipped his tingling arm out of his sleeve and used its fabric to insulate his hand against the live casing of the vibrospanner. He managed to get the switch flipped, and the tool fell sullenly silent.

He didn’t even wait for sensation to fully return to his right hand before he’d engaged his left to work the tool’s casing open and investigate what was going on inside. 

What he found had him staring in a shock that went deeper than the electric one had.

The familiar compact motor of a standard vibrospanner had been replaced with something… _pink_. And much smaller. And… familiar, of course, though his preference had always been for slightly larger sizes and less cutesy colors.

It had also been crudely hacked to electrify the outside casing once activated. The device being battery-powered meant that the shock would not have been enough to stop anyone’s heart, but the lingering numbness would make it difficult for him to keep working on this project at full capacity, especially without a functioning vibrospanner. And the presence of a small pink _vibrator_ inside his supposedly standard-issue toolkit, inside his supposedly standard-issue tool, made it abundantly clear that this was a message aimed specifically at him. He shuddered to think what could have happened had he actually been working on a weapons system rather than on an ancient repulsorlift…

//That’s what they want though, isn’t it? To frighten you?//

Irdak blinked, still not accustomed to Qui-Gon’s newfound ability to just appear to the members of his extended family. _Come to Dad at me, have you?_ he thought weakly.

//Having enemies typically means you’re worth something, Irdak. Whoever did this clearly doesn’t think you’re worth ignoring.//

 _Kinz,_ Irdak thought. _What have I done to offend her this much, though?_

//Shared a gender with others who have, I’ll wager. And gotten yourself promoted purely on charm and good looks.// The dry tone in Qui-Gon’s voice was apt to desiccate the stickiest of lubricants.

_Hey, I do know how to actually fix this piece of junk! Well, given a functioning set of tools… though at this point I must admit I can’t wait to get out of here and deal with actual enemies. ‘Charm and good looks’ are less easy to hack, frankly._

//Here comes your chance//

The voice vanished abruptly, leaving a ringing silence in its wake. From behind him, Irdak heard a heavy slow footfall, as if the person approaching had stood in watchful contemplation for quite a while.

“Meditating on the job?” The voice was warm but not without an edge of mockery. “Is that part of the routine at Temple these days, or are you just a daydreamer… Irdak, was it?”

Irdak looked up into the pale gray eyes of a skinny teal-skinned humanoid dressed in the uniform of the ship’s officers. “Yes,” he said hastily. “I mean, yes that is my name. Irdak Jinnobi, new technician. Not daydreaming.”

The officer smiled thinly. “Mart Hedman, Head of Engineering,” he said curtly. “Not daydreaming either. So what’s that then?” He pointed a gloved hand at the partially-dismantled vibrospanner in Irdak’s hand.

“A problem,” Irdak replied grimly. “You’ll probably agree, sir, that this is not what the inside of a standard-issue vibrospanner should look like.”

Hedman quirked a brow ridge, bending down to take a closer look. “What, exactly, are we looking at?” he enquired coolly.

“Human sex aid, sir,” Irdak answered, defeated. “No idea how it got here but whoever replaced the motor with it also made sure it set the casing under voltage and -”

“Enough!” Hedman’s voice thundered in his ears, and did not stop doing so until the Head of Engineering had managed to summon every single technician on the entire ship, and all without the aid of comm equipment. Irdak covered his ears, and so it was with a nudge of Hedman’s booted foot that he was given to understand that he needed to get up from his crouched position on the floor because somebody was about to get a good yelling at and he’d better be standing up for that like everyone else.

“I am ashamed!” Hedman roared at the assembled techs. “Ashamed of my own lack of judgment in welcoming each and every one of you to this crew! A crew that I had taken to be the finest in the Republic! You are shaming _me_ with this base act of sabotage!” He held up the offending vibrospanner, the pink vibrator dangling forlornly from the casing. “This little prank, in addition to being in the worst of taste, could have cost _lives_!” He narrowed his eyes, shooting gray daggers in the direction of his prime suspects. “We need to be able to rely on each other, Sith damn it! This behavior will not be tolerated! I expect the perpetrator to submit an apology before close of business today! To me, and to… Irdak here, or face a full investigation! Dismissed!”

With that, Hedman stalked off to wherever he had come from, vibrospanner in hand, leaving ringing ears and shuffling feet as the assembled techs dispersed, muttering among themselves. Kinz was nowhere to be seen, which was a blessing, but now Irdak found himself back where he had been when all this started, minus a vibrospanner.

Sighing, he reached for the wrench and stretched his arms. _Perhaps the Force can help._

***

_T minus 2 hours_

“Irdak, stop that. I mean it this time.” Obi-Wan’s voice was just that little bit unsteady already, deliciously so. With a brilliant smile, Irdak refilled his glass and used the Force to nudge it across the table at him. 

“I would try floating it,” he whispered conspiratorially, “but this brandy is too damn valuable to be hostage to my poor Force manipulation abilities. Much better in your mouth.” With that, he picked the glass up and leaned across the table to raise it to Obi-Wan’s lips. Obi-Wan twisted his head sideways and the glass bumped against his ear.

“Irdak. Stop it. We have to be presentable in the morning.”

“And that includes not looking like you spent the night in a foul mood, Obi-Wan,” Irdak replied sweetly. “Honestly, I’ll live. Hedman seems to have this ship under control, although I wish he’d do that a little less loudly.” He winced at the memory.

Obi-Wan sighed. “It was probably not a good idea to bring you along after all.”

A pale blunt finger came to rest on his lips. “Sssh. I won’t have that kind of talk in my cabin. And I am fully intent on proving to you what a good idea it was to bring me along.”

“Irdak… we have to be presentable in the morning.”

“So?” An eyebrow quirked up sharply. “We’re packed, never really unpacked to be honest, we’re mostly clean, and we’ll manage to get dressed. And neither of us is doing the actual flying. So what’s there to worry about?” Irdak moved the glass around to where Obi-Wan’s mouth was, taunting him with the scent of his favorite liquor while replacing the cool glass against Obi-Wan’s ear with the warmth of his lips, nibbling on the lobe and doing visible damage to the Jedi Master’s self control.

“You can manage to project Jedi dignity on half an hour of sleep and a couple of broken bones, love,” Irdak murmured. “And I’ll be happy to just follow along and play your attentive mechanic boyfriend.”

“We should… get to bed, Irdak.”

“Good call,” Irdak smirked, pleased with how that pause had been to admit another sip of brandy to Obi-Wan’s already delightfully marinated mouth. “If you’ll care to go on ahead?”

Even if he hadn’t been more drunk than he would have liked, Obi-Wan had to admit Irdak was getting better at hand-to-hand combat - he had Obi-Wan’s arm twisted behind his back in the blink of an eye, and even though Obi-Wan was sure he _could_ have twisted out of the young man’s grip, that would likely have resulted in damage to one or both of them. Besides, being marched to the bed by an intoxicatingly-scented slightly sweaty part-Zabrak intent fully on one’s pleasure was certainly not something that merited resistance. Perhaps they could make it quick and still catch plenty of sleep…

Obi-Wan hit the bed with an ‘ooph’ that sounded a lot more drunk than he would have liked. The room wasn’t quite spinning yet, but there was an underlying sense of swimmingness, for want of a better word. Of course it didn’t help that he was being crushed into the mattress by someone who had filled out into a nicely-muscled lean young man who probably weighed more than Obi-Wan these days, and increasingly knew how to throw that weight around. Presently, he appeared to be focusing most of it on Obi-Wan’s shoulders.

“My, these muscles are tight, Obi-Wan.” Irdak’s voice sounded a little breathy, and his hands were digging deeply into Obi-Wan’s upper back, using Irdak’s considerable leverage to devastating effect as he stretched unwilling muscle groups, drawing a deep groan from Obi-Wan. “One might think you’ve been doing nothing but worry all day.”

“And whose fault is that?” Obi-Wan mumbled wearily, his resistance melting fast under the onslaught of those familiar light-filled hands.

“I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, love. And of you, when you let me.” As if to illustrate, he rolled Obi-Wan over on his back, straddled him, and proceeded to send that magic touch of his all over Obi-Wan’s body, covering his ears with feather-light caresses, fisting a possessive hand in Obi-Wan’s hair, and finishing it all with a delicate touch around Obi-Wan’s throat, his face eyelash-close to Obi-Wan’s, deeply inhaling Obi-Wan’s open-mouthed soft breaths.

“Mmmmmh, you smell intoxicating.” A lick to an unresisting lip. “I could get drunk on you, you know? Suck you right into my mouth and swallow you down and feel that warm glow spread all over my insides.” He tightened his fingers around the base of Obi-Wan’s throat and smiled when he felt the Jedi swallow. “Excites you too, doesn’t it? Being eaten up whole, devoured by my hungry mouth? Tell you what excites me… one of these days, I’m going to find that collar that your people put me in when they first found me… and slap it on you… nice and tight…” he squeezed Obi-Wan’s throat to illustrate, and earned himself a breathy moan for his efforts, “...and then I’d sit back and practice my Force skills on you. And there’d be nothing, nothing at all you could do about it… think about it, Obi-Wan. Ghost touches, soft ones and rough ones. Everywhere. Until you beg. Beg for a nice hard pounding… mmmmh yes. I can feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Tastes nice. You _like_ this, don’t you?” He petted Obi-Wan’s throat, lightening his touch. There, that was _almost_ a whimper.

“So responsive.” Irdak sighed happily. “What have I done to deserve you, hm?”

“...multitude of sins…” Obi-Wan murmured before giving in to a blistering kiss that left him thoroughly gagged for what felt like minutes, prey to Irdak’s invading tongue, unable to utter anything but small soft sounds of need.

Irdak surveyed his handiwork with a satisfied smirk. The pinked, kiss-swollen lips, the glazed eyes, the delicate flush creeping up Obi-Wan’s cheeks and down his chest where he’d already worked the layers of his tunics loose… “Yes,” he breathed. “Jedi Master to wanton slut in under ten minutes.”

“I am not - mmph!” Obi-Wan’s protestations drowned in another kiss, and this time when Irdak deemed Obi-Wan sufficiently kissed, he replaced his lips with his hand, keeping Obi-Wan nice and nonverbal.

He was pretty sure that that touch of a sharp, hot tongue against this palm had started out as yet another instance of ‘Irdak, stop that’.

“What,” he said mildly, “are you going to do about it, hm? Dishevelled and needy as you are, squirming under me for a good hard pounding?” Irdak smirked. “Going to run to your Master for help, are you, Jedi?”

A soft chuckle from somewhere behind both of their ears alerted them to Qui-Gon’s Force presence in the cabin. 

//He’s right, Padawan. You _are_ in need of a good hard pounding. My only regret is that I am not presently capable of delivering one.//

Gray-green eyes widened, and a sound fought its way up Obi-Wan’s throat that may have started as protest and died somewhere on the way to ‘yes please now please’.

“Have something to say, do you?” Irdak grinned and slowly lifted his hand off Obi-Wan’s mouth.

“No fair, you two! Ganging up on me like that!” The flicker of exhilaration in Obi-Wan’s eyes betrayed the exaggerated indignation in his voice. And if any of this had left any doubt, the decidedly tented state of his leggings made quick work of dispelling it.

//I would say young Irdak here is the absolute best you can get in the absence of my own attentions, Obi-Wan.//

“Master!” Oh, Obi-Wan was getting into this. “You’re not going to defend me against this wanton youth?!”

//Why would I?// Qui-Gon replied drily. //When I can watch you getting fucked into a delicious pulp by a younger, prettier version of myself? Sure, he may not be as much of a fighter as I was at that age, but he more than makes up for that with… other skills. And expert knowledge of your soft spots, my Obi-Wan.//

Obi-Wan groaned, but had to admit that listening to Qui-Gon and Irdak exchanging notes about his ‘soft spots’ made for an entertaining, and arousing, experience that was _almost_ worth the humiliation of having his incorporeal Master and his impossible lover plot how best to take him apart.

//Have you tried the spot below his earlobes yet?//

“Absolutely. Tongue and fingernails both. Surprisingly different reactions actually.”

A warm chuckle. //Devious. Then again, who do you get it from...//

“And that mouth. Gods but he loves to have it stuffed. And the little sounds he makes…”

//I know. Should be outlawed in several systems, and quite possibly is.//

“Hey - I’m still here, you know!” Obi-Wan’s voice tried to muster as much indignation as he could, with his mind sloshing with his favorite brandy and his favorite people discussing… that. _Yes, that, please_.

“Patience, Padawan.” In Irdak’s soft low voice, those words sounded so wrong and yet so right. Obi-Wan felt shivers coursing up and down his spine, knowing that Qui-Gon was watching, and appreciating what he saw.

//I’ve noticed he’s quite partial to your hand over his mouth,// Qui-Gon continued the thread. //That one’s new to me. Not that he’s ever minded my hands anywhere on him. Really.//

“You’ve got that right.” Irdak laughed a breathy little laugh, running his hands all over Obi-Wan, a teasing touch to his collarbones here, a firm grip on his wrist there. “Sometimes I wish I had more than two of them, you know? Hells, most of the time it takes more than two just to hold him down.”

//Indeed,// Qui-Gon nodded sagely. //Those hips have the Force in them.//

Obi-Wan went wide-eyed as he felt the cool implacable touch of… the Force, he supposed… gently weighing down on his squirming hips. It felt oddly like - no, it felt utterly like Qui-Gon’s broad palms and strong fingers, lacking only the familiar warmth.

When the phantom hand started moving, he could not suppress a whimper. A whimper that was rewarded with a soft squeeze, followed by another elsewhere on his overheating skin, warm hands and cool hands joining forces to divest him of his clothing, the warm ones doing most of the work while the cool ones set his skin aflame in their wake.

“What are you… both of you, stop it!” Obi-Wan blinked furiously, struggling to regain his composure, his frown flagging visibly when Irdak, against all odds, stopped what he was doing and sat back, holding his hands up innocently. 

The touches continued unabated, roaming over his skin like remembered caresses, one finally settling over his own hand and the other burrowing under his hair just behind his right ear, a fleeting tug where his Padawan braid had once been.

//Stop it, really? Why? When all three of us are evidently enjoying ourselves?//

“You are a… _Force ghost_! You’re not even supposed to have the… equipment!” Obi-Wan blushed furiously at the realization that he was, in fact, accusing Master Qui-Gon Jinn of not having a penis.

The blue apparition shrugged. //If by equipment you mean the part that you’ve spent most of your Padawan years fantasizing about… you have a point. The Force moves in mysterious ways, and the parts of my individuality that have been the most amenable to reviving have been the ones most remembered by others, most anchored in others’ Force threads. For obvious reasons, those would be my face, general shape, and, apparently… my hands.//

The one covering Obi-Wan’s hand squeezed gently, making him start. 

//I would wager that those qualify as the right equipment for making love to you, Obi-Wan. Especially when one has four of them at one’s disposal. As for the _other_ equipment you appear to be craving...// a faint blue palm flickered across the distance between them, closing gently on the bulge in the front of Irdak’s leggings. //...all we’re waiting for is a ‘yes’ from you it seems.//

“We…” Obi-Wan groaned. “You are too much. Both of you. All of you. Seriously. How do I even… I mean, I know I’m drunk but I know I’m not hallucinating either, and you... “ he trailed off helplessly as another wave of desire washed over him, Qui-Gon’s incorporeal hand tickling the side of his neck. Blue-green eyes flickered unsteadily from one intense lopsided smile to the other. “How is this my life now?!”

Irdak shrugged, widening his smile. “The Force is with you, it seems.”

Obi-Wan sighed, letting his eyes drift closed. “Yes.”

“Yes?” Irdak asked softly, leaning down to whisper in Obi-Wan’s ear. “Yes to a nice hard pounding, a couple of orgasms deep if I can manage? Yes to screaming, sobbing, mindless bliss at my hands and those of the inimitable Master Jinn? Yes to possibly the best night of your life?”

Obi-Wan’s first response sounded more like ‘uhn’, but he did manage a somewhat more verbal ‘yes’. That, as it turned out, was the last intelligible thing he uttered that night. Within a blink of his consent, their little lube bottle raced across the short distance between their travel cases and the bed, steadied only slightly by Qui-Gon’s supportive touch, and landed in Irdak’s hand with such force it almost spilled all over his fingers.

For the next hour or so, all that left Obi-Wan’s mouth were garbled syllables and increasingly breathless moans, interspersed with small muffled whimpers whenever he got too loud and one hand or another had to cover his mouth for a bit while the others held his squirming bucking body in their loving grip as Irdak did his level best to pound him into a pulp with the stamina of youth and, it had to be said, more than a touch of the Force. 

When Obi-Wan had finally spilled over into sleep, the picture of well-fucked debauchery, Irdak stretched his own sore limbs and gingerly got off the bed. 

_Shame I won’t be able to unmess his hair tomorrow,_ he thought wistfully. _Keep him safe for me?_

//Is this wise, Irdak?//

 _No,_ Irdak admitted. _But it is right. You sense it too._

//I sense a mile-wide streak of my own stubbornness in you, young man,// Qui-Gon sighed. //And no, I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself either. Be careful, Irdak.//

 _I will. And you of all people know how to find me._ He shrugged one shoulder in a comical imitation of Jinn’s one raised eyebrow. 

//May the Force be with you.//

When the faint blue glow of Qui-Gon’s presence had faded, Irdak dimmed the bedroom lights, glanced at the chron, composed a brief message to Master Windu on his handheld comm and a slightly longer, hand-written one to Obi-Wan, shouldered his daypack, and let the door slide closed behind him. 

The unliveried transport was waiting for him, a discreet droid pilot at the ready and apparently satisfied with his physical appearance as a means of identification. 

_I am rather a sight, aren’t I?_ In the middle of the ship’s artificial night cycle, with nothing but the blackness of space outside the viewport, Irdak stared into the reflection of his own face against the velvet darkness. Hungry, underslept, and high on adrenaline, he felt ready to take on the universe.


	3. Cloaking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this story has sprouted a non-con warning - the scene in question is short and will not traumatize the character involved or dominate the story so if you wish to skip that scene and continue to follow the story, you can jump from the moment where Qui-Gon says //On it.// to the last paragraph offset by asterisks.
> 
> Thanks as always to tornado_fox for supplying me with Legends canon that I had no idea existed, and asking all the right questions!

“He did _what_?... Are you sure, Master?”

All Padme was able to discern from the murmur coming from the audio end of Anakin’s comm was that Master Kenobi, presumably, was quite agitated and probably exasperated. She watched a frown appear, disappear, and reappear on Anakin’s features a few times during the course of whatever lengthy tale Master Kenobi had to share, interspersed with a few quiet “I see” and “Oh man”-type comments. Without a doubt, Master Kenobi’s mature style of communication had rubbed off on the young man, and she found herself smiling involuntarily, anticipating the retelling of whatever dubious Jedi adventure merited a comm call across half the galaxy. 

Family matters, she supposed. It still felt strange to her to think of a Jedi as having family, but after a few days in the company of Padawan Skywalker she was willing to testify to the benefits of such an arrangement. And trying very hard not to let on that her decade-old crush on Master - then Padawan - Kenobi was making a valiant and seamless effort at transferring itself to another smooth-talking, apprentice-braided Jedi.

“Sithspit.”

Okay, strike the ‘smooth-talking’. She looked up from her datapad, raising an eyebrow in inquiry. “Trouble at the Temple?” she asked neutrally.

“Worse.” Anakin rubbed his forehead as if to wipe off that flickering frown. “Trouble halfway across the galaxy.”

“Oh.” Padme put down her datapad. “Anything I need to know about? Should I expect to lose my faithful bodyguard in the next few hours?”

“No, not that…” Anakin sighed. “Remember how I mentioned having an idiot brother who is even more of a trouble magnet than me?”

Padme nodded slowly. “Irdak, right? I was under the impression he was with Master Kenobi on his mission, no?”

“And that’s the problem. He’s gone missing. In the middle of the night. From a ship traveling through deep space.”

Padme’s eyes went wide. “How is that possible?”

“Not sure actually.” Anain shrugged. “I gather they searched the ship at first too… and then Master Qui-Gon spoke up, and… well, let’s just say Master Obi-Wan is not happy.”

“Master Qui-Gon?” Padme looked puzzled. “The family ghost?”

Anakin laughed bitterly. “That’s a good way of putting it. Anyway, yes. Sharing most of Irdak’s genetics and all of his midichlorians has left him with a bit of a connection to him, so… he knew where Irdak was off to.”

Padme’s eyebrows rose. “Let me guess… he didn’t manage to stop him.”

Anakin shook his head. “Stopping Irdak when he’s got his hare brain set on something is next to impossible. No, Master Obi-Wan is upset because Master Qui-Gon didn’t alert him immediately. We have a triangulation problem, basically.” He sketched a line in the fine layer of dust on the unused conference table in Padme’s office, and she wandered over to observe.

“Master Obi-Wan is currently en route to Rodia to observe a trade negotiation there.” He marked the planet with a small circle at the far end of the trajectory. “Irdak appears to have gone off to Geonosis… which is over here.” He indicated another small circle way off the trajectory. “So every hour that Master Obi-Wan was sound asleep aboard the _Dikaiosyne_ , Irdak was hurtling off in the opposite direction, putting space between them at an alarming rate. We’re not even sure how he managed to secure transport, but Master Qui-Gon assures us that he is alive and well.”

“So… assuming he hasn’t been kidnapped, what in the world is Irdak doing on Geonosis?”

Anakin sighed. “Jedi business. Seriously, even I don’t know but Master Obi-Wan indicated it was some sort of secret mission that _he_ was aware of, and that Irdak wasn’t supposed to go on but of course, telling Irdak to stop doing something is like telling someone to not think about teal gundarks.”

“Geonosis…” Padme wandered back to her encrypted desktop terminal, keyed in several lengthy strings of text, and sat reading for a few moments, Anakin’s harrowing tale apparently forgotten.

“All right,” she announced finally. “Not to breach confidentiality here, but there have been a few classified requests from the Jedi Council recently… not sure who else in the Senate bothers to read these security briefings on a regular basis but I think I can piece together why that planet is suddenly of interest to the Jedi. And, truth to be told, to the Senate as well if my colleagues bothered to read their security briefings.”

Anakin inclined his head, curious. “Anything you’d be allowed to share with a humble bodyguard?”

“Considering your… family ties to several parties involved, I dare say I can make an exception.” Padme smiled sweetly. “In addition to your ‘idiot brother’, this planet appears to be poised to play host to your former Great-Grand-Master, Anakin.”

“He’s after Count Dooku?”

Padme nodded. “And many more of his kind, it seems. Jedi intelligence suggests an imminent gathering of Separatist leadership on Geonosis.” She smiled. “Some familiar faces, according to the putative guest list.”

“You… you know the Separatists?” Anakin had to remind himself not to gape. Padme had spent more than half her life as a career politician, after all. She _knew_ people.

“Not personally,” she grinned. “However, buttering up young and supposedly inexperienced senators from wealthy backwater planets is definitely a favored activity among their ilk. Also, you’d be surprised at the level of staff fluctuation among political aides. Always a better boss around the corner… and once you’ve made friends with their admin assistants, you’ve practically smashed a doorway into their fortress. Infiltrating that sort of gathering would be easily achievable, provided one is good at acting.” She paused for a second, then frowned lightly. “Or seduction.”

Anakin groaned. “Are you considering…?”

Padme nodded, a grim smile on her face. “There’s not much we can do here for the time being. The vote has been lost, the Army of the Republic is bulldozing towards an unprepared galaxy. And if I chose to assist your brother in his daredevil mission… well, you’re my bodyguard. You would have to protect me, right?” Her smile turned razor-sharp, and Anakin felt a flush creep up his cheeks. “To make sure I don’t get unduly seduced?”

Anakin suppressed an even louder groan. “Yes, milady.” He bowed stiffly. “I am at your service.”

“Lovely,” she replied, her smile softening. “Pack light please. We will hash out our undercover personalities on the way there.” With that, she picked up her secure comm and focused her attention on her work to a degree that made Anakin feel like a shield had gone up between them, all warmth suddenly sucked out of the room. 

He shuddered, briefly contemplated just how much he missed that smile already, and saw himself out.

***

_Message ID: 76du8d53dlk-04:07:33-SEC_   
_From: (c) Windu, Mace_   
_To: (e) Jinnobi, Irdak_   
_Irdak,_   
_As indicated, please find attached SECRET mission briefing. You will be met by Master Nendar at your rendezvous location (airfield). Picture attached. Arrange comms with him directly please. Also, might not want to answer calls from Master Kenobi right now. Backup is being relocated to the system as we speak so you will have a more significant Jedi presence within the next 36 hours. May the Force be with you. M_

Three hours later, Irdak’s head ached and he found himself rubbing the roots of his horns for a little creature comfort. Naturally, nobody on this rock-hopper of a ship had bothered to lay in rations for anything other than the droid in charge of it, and Irdak bitterly regretted not being able to digest electrons. At least there was water for the cooling systems, which could be diverted into his own system to keep it from failing… because processing Master Windu’s mission briefing had been dense work. 

Names, connections, cross-references. Mugshots, headshots, some of them named, others less so. Increasingly improbably named organizations suspected of having joined the Separatist cause (really, who in their sane mind named their organization the Banking Clan?!), with sub-files detailing their operations both above and below board, ostensible and suspected leaders, assets, and potential weaknesses.

Most crucially, the briefing contained what scant information the Jedi had on the Separatists’ communication systems, or rather the data-interchange solution they had rigged to make all their respective systems talk to each other.

Suffice to say they did not trust the more established networking solutions, or anything considered state of the art on the more developed worlds; the only thing intercepted by Republic or Jedi intelligence had been innocuous comm messages detailing perfectly public meetings and perfectly legal business dealings. The conclusion being that the actual sensitive material was being exchanged in raw binary code on physical data storage devices.

Thankfully Windu’s sleuths had managed to include some sample descriptions and images of such devices, because in all his two years as a droid tech at Temple Irdak had barely even come across something as antiquated as that. He’d heard of portable physical data storage of course, but the small supplies the Jedi kept of such devices were only wheeled out for missions to particularly inclement planets where electronic storms were frequent and data work was required outside the shielding and connectivity of the ship that the Jedi in question had travelled in on.

Irdak was pleasantly surprised at how small the devices in question were - barely more than chips, the outside surfaces taken up almost entirely with connectors, making them look like small circuitry-iced jewels. They would be easy to conceal or smuggle out of a place, but potentially difficult to locate, given how small they were. Still, the Separatists’ mutual mistrust and lack of a functional comm network would mean that everyone who was anyone at this summit would be in possession of one recently issued to them, so it was a matter of distracting enough beings for enough time to pocket one… and distraction he could do.

Nodding grimly to himself, Irdak closed the file directory and took his comm from muted to completely off the grid. Bypassing the number of missed calls from Obi-Wan took a truly low-tech solution, but closing his eyes was probably a good idea for the remainder of the transfer anyway, and he was fairly certain the droid pilot would not mind a good six feet of part-Zabrak spy untidily sprawled across the back seats of the transport...

*** 

Irdak woke with a start at the sound of a raspy voice calling his name. He scrambled upright and had his best customer-service smile switched on before he’d even remembered where he was. _Geonosis. Right. Rendezvous location._

A squat Iktotchi in brown robes smirked at him from the open access hatch. “Morning,” he said matter-of-factly. “Hope you got some good shut-eye.”

“M-master Nendar, I assume?” Irdak extricated himself from the tiny ship’s passenger compartment and stretched luxuriantly on the tarmac of what appeared to be a small airfield in the middle of a reddish desert dotted with rocks. He towered over the Jedi liaison, who didn’t seem to be fazed in the slightest by his unusual looks or credentials. 

“The same,” Nendar confirmed. “Grab your stuff? Hope you didn’t bring much because it’s speeder bikes from here on out. Well, my lair is walking distance but I take it you could do with stretching those legs a little, huh?”

“Definitely,” Irdak replied, reaching back into the ship for his pack before slamming the hatch shut as a signal to the pilot that it would be OK to depart. “Not as comfy as the _Dikaiosyne_ but quiet at least.” He looked around. “Nice planet you’ve got here.”

Nendar snorted. “Beats Kamino for weather at least.” He started walking immediately, and Irdak, to his surprise, found himself almost jogging to keep up. “You’re up to speed on the mission?” the Jedi asked.

“Uh, yes. Master Windu furnished me with everything they had. Looks like we’re attempting to mine data jewels?”

Another snort. “Attempting, yeah. You ready for a spot of bad news, kid?”

Irdak sighed. “Don’t tell me you haven’t made me breakfast. That droid was not prepared for sentient passengers, and I skipped dinner last night in an effort to distract Ob… Master Kenobi.”

Nendar grunted something unintelligible from several steps ahead. “He’s been on the comm pretty much nonstop. Better keep yours off the grid if you don’t want an earful. And don’t get me wrong, he’s gonna be here the minute he gets the Rodians to agree to a replacement. Or a delay. And that’s gonna be real soon. They don’t call him the Negotiator for nothing, you know. And no, I can feed you. If you don’t mind larvae. You a full-on Zabrak or do you eat greens?”

“Mostly human, actually,” Irdak replied, unsure whether the pit in his stomach was from not having eaten in most of a day-night cycle or from the dread about Master Nendar’s promised bad news. “And right now, any food sounds good. Thank you,” he added somewhat breathlessly as he caught up to Nendar ducking into what appeared to be a crevice in a craggy rock formation that turned out to be a doorway. Inside, a small luminescent globe and a portable comm terminal lit up a single room that appeared to have been eaten into the rock by something with artistic talent eons ago. Irdak felt like he was inside a petrified womb, and the general ruddy color scheme or the fact that his horns were scraping the ceiling didn’t help.

“Welcome to my base of operations,” Nendar grumbled. “Make yourself comfortable. Might wanna sit on the floor, it’s not very tall in here. Food coming up. Give me a second to kill it first.” He busied himself near the floor of the tiny cavern, then came up with a cracked piece of ceramic that had clearly been used as heat shielding at some point and now doubled as dinnerware. It held a small pile of plump golden-brown grubs, several of them oozing what appeared to be their blood, from puncture wounds that appeared to be the work of the Jedi’s claw-like nails. Irdak swallowed. It was food, so…

“So what about the… oh.” He’d attempted to trick himself into getting the disgusting-looking grubs down by talking about the mission at the same time, but the grubs had foiled that plan quite thoroughly. “These are _good_ ,” he said, surprised. 

“That’s all I can spare I’m afraid,” Nendar said decisively. “You’re welcome to some sprouts if that’s your thing.” He gestured at a small hydroponic box underneath the globe light. 

Irdak nodded gratefully and sprinkled some gnarled tealish shoots over his exotic breakfast. Smiling at the spicy flavor, he ran after his original train of thought. “You said you had bad news, Master?”

“‘Fraid so,” Nendar confirmed gruffly. “You know how they sent you here to work your way into the summit, right? Yeah, that’s not gonna work. The summit has taken over the Senna compound all right, as we anticipated… and promptly furloughed all of its staff.” He sighed, a sound like rocks scraping. “They brought all of their own. Security, administrative, janitorial, everything. There’s not even a way in through the kitchen. No local hiring, no access at all for anyone not personally familiar to the attendees as their own.”

“That’s a lot of disgruntled hotel staff, I assume?”

“Oh no,” Nendar grinned. “They paid them. Virtually all them have gone off-planet for a vacation or the immigrant ones - that’s most of them because who in their sane mind would hire a Geonosian to run a hotel? - to see family. Place is cleaned out. But that means there’s no way any of them is gonna wanna order flatbread from a local delivery boy or hire an electrician to fix their wonky refrigeration unit. They brought everything…” Another rock-scraping sigh, Nendar’s fingers tapping listlessly on the input pad of his comm unit. Whatever popped up caused his already dark features to darken further. “Except one thing, it seems.”

Irdak brightened, polishing off the last of the larva juice with his fingertips. “So that’s our way in, then?”

Nendar squirmed visibly at the thought. “Doubt it. First of all, that would not be the Jedi way to… I mean, kitchen work and scrubbing ‘freshers is one thing but this… I couldn’t condone that.”

Irdak’s eyes widened as the contacts in his mind snapped into place, then he grinned widely. “Master Nendar. I’m not sure how much of a briefing you’ve been given on my background, but… I used to _be_ a sex worker. Posing as one won’t be a hardship.”

The Iktotchi blinked a few times, and if the lighting in the room hadn’t been so uneven, Irdak could have sworn he’d seen the Jedi blush to the roots of his own considerable horns. After a few rumbly attempts at throat-clearing and another tap at the comm terminal, Master Nendar said, “We still have one problem though. The request that just came in? It’s from Wat Tambor of the Techno Union. And he… he apparently prefers droids.”

Irdak laughed. “And he’s getting the one thing that’s better than a droid.” He unfolded himself to his full height, beaming horns to toes. “A droid mechanic.”

Scanning the lanky, Force-bright Temple spy in his unassuming gray pants, utilitarian boots, and see-through blue top that showed off his almost-complete set of tattoos, Master Nendar reluctantly grunted assent. “Might be the only shot we get,” he said. “Come on. Speeder bike’s outside. Leave your gear. You’ve got about ten minutes’ head start on the brothel in the city.”

***

“Yeah, send it upstairs.” The voice coming through the intercom would have been tinny and distorted even without the added tinniness and distortion of the Senna compound’s reception system currently inexpertly manned by a flustered-looking Gossam of indefinite gender. 

“It’s not an ‘it’,” the Gossam replied cautiously. “It’s a ‘he’ by the look of it.”

“Premium service,” Irdak cut in, with as much of a professional smile in his voice as he could muster. “You won’t regret a minute, Master Tambor.”

“Send it upstairs. Tambor out.”

***

“You are not what I ordered.” 

The vocal synthesizer embedded in Wat Tambor’s life support suit managed to convey displeasure as much as possible given that it was translating down from what Irdak had learned was a highly complex language that thrived on the Skakoan’s homeworld but was sadly curtailed by the need to supply high-pressure methane to its speakers whenever they left said homeworld. 

Irdak smiled a lazy smile and advanced on his metal-suited customer, trailing a hand over the cool exterior of his life support system. “Sentient service is a bonus, free of charge,” he assured him in his smoothest, warmest voice. “I assure you I work with droids enough to know the ropes as it were.” A wink, completely lost on the Skakoan’s mask-covered face.

“You will not touch my dials!” the synthetic voice squealed. “If you lack the proper programming, this encounter ends here and now.”

“Pity,” Irdak replied, one eyebrow raised. “I’ve got a bit of a reputation with your kind. Let’s just say a well-managed case of methane deprivation can do wonders for your orgasms. And as for what else that suit of yours is capable of…” He trailed off seductively, running a hand along his circuitry-like tattoos as if to illustrate.

That seemed to hold the Skakoan’s attention for at least a fleeting moment. Desperately casting his eyes about the room for a potential data jewel, Irdak ran with it. “There’s a lot more where those came from,” he purred conspiratorially, wriggling his hips and shimmying his pants and underwear down to expose his long thighs, ivory inscribed with brown and russet circuitry.

He could tell that Zabrak tattoos wouldn’t be enough to satisfy a full-on droid fetishist, but it bought him time, and as sex work went, stripping was one of the easiest jobs and he was good at it. Stepping gracefully out of his pants and boots, he made a show of exposing the intricate work all down his left side, flexing his slender muscles, and even added touch of robotic jerkiness to his arm movements as he worked the tight blue top over his head, all the while peering through the transparent fabric for his real target.

_There. Why does it always have to be behind me?!_

The mirror above the bed afforded him a decent enough view. Behind him, on the low side table, in place of the welcome arrangement of flowers and muja fruit that a disgusted Wat Tambor had probably swept into the waste bin under said table within minutes of arriving…

“Security!!” Tambor’s voice had amped up to the point of pain. _That guy’s not gonna need a comm to call the thugs, does he?_ Irdak thought fleetingly, while allowing his body to jerk back in shock and stumble against the side table. And miss, fingers scrabbling against the tilted tabletop as he heard more than saw the data jewel slide off into the waste bin and bury itself in a puddle of ripe muja mush with a small wet splat.

To their credit, the armed security forces that slammed open the door a second later seemed a tiny bit taken aback by his nakedness, but regrettably not enough to refrain from immediately manhandling him into a pair of binders with a stun rod to his throat.

“Take him away,” the synthetic voice squealed. “I have no idea who he is but he’s not what I ordered!”

Wincing against the brutal grip of the security guard on his upper arm, Irdak closed his eyes and reached deep into the Force.

_Master Jinn… Qui-Gon… you there? If you are, guard the trash at any cost._

Irdak thought he saw a blue glow in the corner of his eyes before the stun rod connected with his skin and his vision went white, then black.

***

“That is… all of it?” Anakin smiled shakily, suddenly aware of how a lady might not take kindly to being judged on the size of her luggage. Especially a lady normally known for the amazing frequency of her clothing changes.

“Yes,” Padme replied simply. “Does it look like a lot to you? I find myself a little unaccustomed to it actually. On the upside, having to show off Nabooian taste and craftsmanship for my day job means I’m basically unrecognizable in a plain outfit like this one.” She gestured at the sharp tunic suit in a professional shade of plum, belted in pale gray and otherwise utterly undecorated. 

“You’re… really enjoying this, aren’t you, Sen… Padme?” Anakin fought down a blush. For all that the suit covered her completely, the idea of being able to see the outline of Padme’s _legs_ made his stomach flutter in utterly embarrassing ways. He was a Senior Padawan, for Force’s sake, and not a virgin either!

“Actually, yes.” She smiled. “Feel free to check through my bag to verify you’ll be able to recognize me in any of these, because once we step out of these chambers I’ll answer to Ennea ve Cirmak, recently promoted to Chief of Staff for the newly appointed junior Senator from Bespin. Who will, when pressed, admit that she constitutes the _entirety_ of his staff. With the exception of an underpaid bodyguard who mysteriously hasn’t jumped ship yet despite the fact that he’s underpaid and underappreciated. Maybe he has a crush on her?”

Anakin flushed deep pink. “I… think I will be able to portray that fairly well,” he managed.

“Thought so.” Padme winked at him. “Oh, and since we’re going to have to go through commercial spaceport security once Senator Taa’s latest extravagance of a ship has dropped us off, there _are_ electronics in my bag. This,” she held up a portable comm terminal, “and this,” a personal entertainment screen by the look of it, “and this.”

Anakin didn’t think it was possible to blush even deeper. He knew what the device was, of course; he wasn’t born yesterday, and had discussed refining the programming of one as a profitable side hustle with his disaster brother more than once, but the reality of Senator Padme Amidala of Naboo - no, Chief of Staff Ennea ve Cirmak of Bespin - holding up a slender but realistically shaped and colored silicone penis still hit him like a punch to the privates.

Said privates were taking an interest in the proceedings, and Anakin found himself acutely grateful that his chosen undercover outfit covered his groin just as unobtrusively as his Jedi tunics did.

“Duly noted,” he replied, keeping his voice even. He even managed a smile without letting too much of the sudden heat inside him leak out. “I might need notification about not entering your quarters when you’re, uh… using the latter device.”

Padme laughed, a surprisingly bright brassy sound. “You’ll know, Anakin, you’ll know.” She nestled the vibrator back among her packed clothing, on top of what looked suspiciously like a harness of slender silicone straps. Anakin’s eyes widened.

Padme’s smile was brilliant, a small white sun of pure mirth. “You might be _invited_.”

***

Irdak’s left shoulder ached. That, all told, was a good thing. It meant he was conscious, and that no immediate life-supporting bodily functions were impaired. He breathed in deeply, exhaled, and catalogued the sensations in his body before cautiously opening his eyes.

The light was muted, ambient, and cool. The room was windowless, and less cool, possibly in deference to the fact that he was still naked, clad only in a pair of wrist binders that… ah. That was new.

The wrist binders were apparently anchored to the floor. He tried to roll over enough to be able to see, but got nowhere. Well, except to the inevitable realization that whoever had put him up here had also seen fit to add a pair of ankle binders. Which he _could_ see, and which were similarly anchored together and to the floor, by powerful magnetic forces, it seemed. 

Forces stronger than his thigh muscles, anyway. He sighed and stretched as much as he could, then rolled over on to his other side to give his shoulder some respite. 

No Force collar, though. _Good to know those continue to be rare._ He cautiously reached for the blue and green currents, keeping his breathing shallow and his eyes closed.

_Qui-Gon?_

//Irdak!//

Irdak released a breath he hadn’t meant to hold. _Thank the Force._

//You might want to thank it later, Irdak. You’ve got incoming…//

_The trash!_

//On it.//

***

The shorter wall of the cell dissolved into a transparent force field, and an authoritative figure twirling a stun rod in one hand stepped though.

“You’re awake.” The voice brooked no argument. Male, by the sound of it. The visor covering most of the humanoid’s pale face left few clues otherwise. His uniform, on the other hand, spoke loudly of power and very little deference to decorum or hierarchy. This man, whoever he was, clearly liked feeling in charge.

“Welcome to the Senna Resort,” the low voice continued. “I regret to inform you that without proper credentials, this is the best accommodation we can offer you, sir.” The mouth split into a sneer at the last word, exposing sharp and evenly black teeth.

Irdak glared. “I am sure you will find that this is all a massive misunderstanding,” he hazarded. “I have been -”

A blow of the guard’s rod across his face briefly stunned him and left him with the sudden taste of metal in his mouth. He licked his bleeding lip and chose to keep silent for now.

“I am _pleased_ to hear that,” the guard continued, enunciating every word with glee. “I am willing to listen. To each and every one of your screams, if necessary. Or you could make it short and cut to the confession.”

“I… find it hard to confess to something I have no recollection of doing.” Oh, not good. Another blow, this one across his exposed upper arm. Irdak winced, biting his lip as the pain lanced along the bone. It stood to reason that someone who wielded a rod as part of his everyday equipment would know the pain points of a number of common species.

“I have ways of making it easier,” the guard replied smoothly. “I have it on good authority that your kind doesn’t bruise easily, so there’s a _lot_ of leeway here until someone asks questions about extra colors on your skin, boy.” As if to illustrate, he laid another, harder blow on the same upper arm, in the exact same spot.

This time, Irdak screamed.

When he had caught his breath, he found himself staring at his reflection in the pale man’s visor, eyelash close, his own eyes haunted. Darker than he was used to seeing them. Trembling. Something threatened to spill out that was far more than tears. Far more powerful.

“Spit it out.” A menacing whisper. “Or I will make you.”

“Spit what out?” Irdak knew there was only so much he could do without the use of his limbs, but if playing ignorant was going to get him stunned unconscious again that was the best he could hope for, at least until Master Windu’s reinforcements arrived. 

“Whatever you managed to steal in your little caper, _pleasure boy_ ,” the menacing whisper informed him. “And make no mistake, we can keep you here until it comes out the natural way. Not that that would be nearly as much _fun_ , mind.” He ran a thumb over Irdak’s lower lip, smearing the blood across his chin before circling back and shoving a finger deep into Irdak’s mouth, filling it with the taste of rubber and violation. Another joined it, turning his tongue over, scraping along his teeth for hidden caches, shoving deeper until he gagged, tears in his eyes, desperately sucking in breath through his nose, struggling to twist away as far as the binders would allow him. Inside him, a flood of blue and green and darkest indigo roiled, threatening to overwhelm him, to wash that invasive hand right out of his body.

When the hand pulled away, his first word was a cough. His second was a defiant, “Useless.”

“Yeah?” The mouth beneath the visor split into a wide black grin again. Predatory. “Thank you for the hint, my boy.” Without further ado, he touched his rod to the ankle binders and snapped them free from the floor, only to pick one up by the magnetic end of the rod and deposit it against the nearest wall. Where it stuck. Irdak growled, which was the best he could do with his hands shackled behind his back and his legs spread. He knew only too well what was coming, and it would be survivable.

“Useless too,” Irdak snarled, even as the gloved hand breached his body, two fingers and a thumb forcing their way inside, forcing the breath out of him for a second. The dark blue currents were spiralling inside him, gathering force, filling his center with rage, with righteous primal power that would carry or drown him or both, it was hard to tell.

“Doubt it,” the guard snarled, kneeling between Irdak’s helplessly spread thighs. “Even if I can’t produce any contraband, I will at least have gathered some valuable data on Zabrak anatomy.” He grinned that unsettling grin again. “I wonder how far up your ass I could shove that rod until you tear?”

Irdak had no memory of what happened next. When the deep blue tide receded and he regained his breath and vision, there was blood on the floor of the cell, and the brackish brown color clearly told him it was not his own. 

The guard lay motionless, no breath raising or lowering the still plane of his back armor, a trickle of brown dripping from his mouth onto the bare floor of the cell, the rod fallen from his hand, magnetically welded to Irdak’s ankle on the floor. He tried to move and found he could; only that one ankle had been unlocked however, which made his position no less comfortable if a little less exposed. Rolling over on to his left side, away from the body of his assailant, he swung his free leg up to rest against the wall alongside his other one, hoping against hope that the person who would inevitably come looking for the dead guard would be more inclined to listen and less inclined to torture him. He had to admit it was unlikely though. Especially now that he had apparently killed one of their own with the help of the Force.

_Master Qui-Gon… I know I sent you off to guard trash but… how long do you think until the Jedi get here?_

The Force remained silent except for the background roar of the roiling currents inside Irdak’s mind.

The red light on the surveillance cam set into the top corner of the cell winked off, then on again. Irdak thought he heard footsteps.

***

The footsteps came closer. Slow, measured steps along the corridor outside his cell. Irdak imagined well-made boots, a military bearing. Possibly long legs. Certainly an unhurried demeanor. Probably a commanding officer of some kind. 

Irdak hoped.

When the wall vanished, what walked through the force field (without the assistance of a rod no less) was nothing less than an assault on Irdak’s senses. 

Outwardly, the figure matched the description and recent images in the file Master Windu had supplied him with. From what were indeed well-made and meticulously polished boots all the way up to his clean-cut white hair and dark eyes, the man radiated calm command and aristocratic superiority. He took his time to silently survey his captive as well as his dead employee, minutely quirking one brow in a gesture so familiar it twisted Irdak’s stomach into a knot. Then, he reached out one gnarled, long-fingered hand and with a quick gesture unattached Irdak’s ankle from the wall and his wrists from the floor, the thundercloud of his brows making it quite clear that he had the power to reinstate Irdak’s restraints in even more uncomfortable ways should the need arise.

For now, Irdak gratefully folded his legs up under him, rubbing his shoulders and wrists, peripherally aware of his own nudity, his last remaining weapon… and indeed, something about him seemed to be having an effect on this man.

Seemed to be having an effect on _Count Dooku_.

“Remarkable.” A voice like dark gray velvet reverberated around the small cell, and Irdak looked up into those deep brown eyes with an asymmetrical, bloodied smile. 

The Count’s answering smile made the roiling currents inside him sing.


	4. Infiltrating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Art by the amazing tornado_fox

Obi-Wan had a headache worthy of a Rancor’s thick skull. Sleep had been hard to come by between negotiations spanning half the galaxy (never mind time zones), and the fact that he had spent the precious few hours he should have been sleeping worrying about the various members of his disaster family, _both_ of which had now taken to either being out of comm range or pretending to be… yeah, that hadn’t made it any better. 

As a result, he almost dismissed the faint blue glow on the edge of his vision as a hallucination. Until he heard a sound like a clearing of a throat in the back of his mind.

“Qui-Gon. How nice of you to show up.” Obi-Wan was too weary to keep up the veneer of diplomacy, and his exasperation was bleeding into his voice.

//I _have_ been a little busy lately, love.// Qui-Gon clearly had not given up on sounding diplomatic, although how much of that mild warm depth in his voice was Obi-Wan’s memory - or wishful thinking - was hard to determine right now. Obi-Wan rubbed his temples and groaned.

“What do you think I’ve been doing? Taking a vacation?” He sighed. “Sorry. I’ve been on the comm nonstop trying to arrange for a replacement that the Rodians will accept. Master Nendar is neither amenable nor amicable, and of the secret reinforcements that I’m told the Council has been relocating to the quadrant, the one physically closest at this point is Agen Kolar, and you can imagine what impact he would have on the delicate Rodian sensibilities. Add to that the difficulty of turning an entire Republic ship around without being able to really share the reasons for said unscheduled schedule change… it’s a mess.”

//’Jedi business’ won’t do the trick?//

Obi-Wan snorted. “Not when there’s actual Republic top brass involved. And ‘family emergency’ of course would not warrant taking the _Dikaiosyne_ off course. They would have just put me on a subspace shuttle, and I would have been days, if not weeks, getting there. No - if a few hours of groveling to bureaucrats can get me this ship and its hyperspace capabilities, it will have been worth it. And it has. Of course the crew hates me for it now.”

//Don’t tell me your ship is staffed with beings that were actually looking forward to shore leave on _Rodia_?//

“Let me put it that way. How do the words ‘shore leave on Geonosis’ sound to you?”

//Point taken.//

“Which is why there is none. And we’re having to keep everyone aboard the whole time so I can go off and fix whatever covert mess the boy has gotten himself into…”

//About that.// The blue apparition fidgeted slightly and straightened to his full height, as if he still had a body to maneuver. //I’ve got eyes on him. He’s… gotten himself captured, but he’s safe.//

“ _Safe_? As a prisoner of a Separatist summit the rest of the galaxy doesn’t even know about? You call that safe?!”

//He’s mostly unhurt, Obi-Wan. And in good hands. My old Master has him.//

“What?!” Obi-Wan winced at how the sound of his own yelling made his headache worse.

Qui-Gon held up a hand. //I assure you, that is the best thing that could have happened to him under the circumstances. Given Irdak’s… physical appearance and natural charms, he will be fine.//

“What exactly are you insinuating, Qui-Gon?” The volume had decreased, but the edge in Obi-Wan’s voice could have cut durasteel.

Qui-Gon had the dignity to squirm a little. //Let’s just say Master Dooku and I had a bit of a… thing in the past. When I was around the age Irdak is now...//

Obi-Wan groaned.

//What? You thought you and I _invented_ the slightly illicit Master-Padawan romance?//

“But really… _Dooku_?”

//Quite charming and civilized, actually, even these days. And very, _very_ susceptible to blue eyes and gentle but firm hands. Ahem.// Qui-Gon straightened and smiled. //Also, not to forget: all he has to do is hold out for a bit, because the mission is actually accomplished. Well, once someone physical on our side actually manages to retrieve the evidence.//

“You have the files?” Obi-Wan rudely pushed aside the germs of a handful of tirades aimed at Master Jinn’s priorities in relaying information and focused on the actual information. “Or the data storage item that holds them?”

//I am looking at it,// Qui-Gon confirmed. //And rather enjoying keeping assorted life forms away from it. Easily the second most fun I’ve had since my death, Obi-Wan.//

“You are incorrigible.”

//The other night was the most fun, obviously. You and -//

“Shut up for a second, will you? Anyway, I should be planetside in nine or ten hours. You’re at the Senna compound, I assume?”

//Just outside. Can’t miss it. Oh, someone’s coming. Sorry, love, I have a job to do.//

Shaking his aching head, Obi-Wan sank back into the seat he hadn’t realized he’d jumped up from until now. Surely all this adrenaline should turn into actual sleepiness at some point?

Hoping for at least a few hours of rest, Obi-Wan closed his eyes and attempted to avoid picturing his former Master’s Master. Count Dooku. The leader of the Separatist movement. Who had Irdak in his clutches.

No, sleep would not be easy to come by.

***

“What do you mean, _haunted_? You have seriously come up here to waste my time with supernatural stories in an effort to explain why your workers can’t do their _job_?” 

The Neimoidian foreman did his best to appear officious in an attempt to not look like he was groveling. All told, it did not make much of an impression on his superior, separated by one all-important desk, name tag, and one rank of hierarchy in the Trade Federation’s byzantine organizational structure.

“Well…” he essayed, “that is the shortest way of summarizing it. Things start flying when you approach it.”

“Things?”

“Well, uh… trash. Seeing as it’s a trash container we’re talking about.”

The superior let his head tip forward, clearly weary of dealing with his underlings’ stupidity day in, day out. “We are talking. About trash. And your team’s inability to deal with it.”

The foreman squirmed miserably. “Quite a lot of trash. Well, you know one of those big containers that they feed the rooms’ waste disposal bins into?” He shuddered delicately.

“So you’re saying your _workers_ are afraid of a few pieces of flying trash?”

“Uh, no. What they’re afraid of is the… nightmares.”

The superior rolled his eyes. “Asleep on the job, are they?”

The foreman swallowed. “No, sir. Nightmarish images that attack them the moment they as much as think about approaching that container. Those who have recovered enough to be able to put them into words were describing quite… horrendous scenes.”

The superior grunted in exasperation. “Well, send a droid then.”

“We have.”

“And?”

“We lost the droid. Crushed against the nearest wall.”

“Blasters?”

“Not legal within the perimeter of the compound!” The foreman lowered his voice. “The bolts got deflected.”

The supervisor sighed. “What a headache. Anyway, I suppose I will have to escalate the matter to my superior. In the meantime, continue performing your remaining duties as normal. Dismissed.”

“Thank you,” the foreman muttered softly as he retreated. “You’re not paying me enough to go near that thing again in my lifetime.”

***

Anakin wrinkled his nose at having to electrify a _toilet_ for his purposes, but this place was seriously his best chance at some privacy. And given how the powers that be on Geonosis were on high alert, monitoring any signal strong enough to do anything useful, the only choice he had was to mask it.

The white noise of a toilet flushing, amplified and encoded around the signal, might just be enough. Well, that and the fact that once decoded by someone guessing correctly at the sender’s identity, nobody but Obi-Wan and possibly Master Jinn (wherever he may be) would be able to make much sense of the message.

Wiping the fingers of his left hand on his uniform while clamping his right around the contacts of his jerry-rigged toilet/antenna controller, he took a deep breath, pulled the flush lever, and activated the makeshift circuit.

“Disaster brother’s keeper on the ground,” he said quickly.

He had the wiring removed and stowed back inside one of the less conspicuous pockets of his uniform before the water had stopped running.

Obi-Wan probably wasn’t far behind. Not that Anakin had expected to be ahead at all, but apparently certain flush and fancy Senators had access to ships that were faster than anything the civilian Republic fleet could muster. He was likely the only Jedi on the ground for at least a while, excepting the elusive and reclusive Master Nendar. 

_Better tread carefully._ He peered at his reflection in the mirror as the sonic scrubbed his hands clean, then opted for water anyway, if only to smooth his staticky hair. The braid was still tucked away in his tail. Good.

Nodding grimly at himself, Anakin shouldered open the grungy door and re-entered society.

*** 

“Fascinating,” Padme said, and a casual observer could have been forgiven for thinking she was not in fact fully addressing the genial bartender at the dinky cantina that was currently woefully devoid of the assorted immigrant workers of the Senna compound looking for a good time.

She was, only ever so slightly, distracted by her bodyguard emerging from the privy, wiping his freshly washed hands on his uniform pants, leaving darker blue smudges on the faded blue fabric and pulling it just so. _Nice thighs,_ she thought appreciatively, and _Seriously, if the Jedi used their bodies in service to their missions they would be near-unstoppable._

She took another swig of her drink, studiously didn’t smile too much at Anakin as he sat down wordlessly next to her at the bar, and picked up the thread of her conversation with the seriously bored bartender. “So they sent all of them home?”

“Yeeh,” the bartender replied in a voice that was something between words and a modulated whistle emanating from her beak-like visage. “Super-important dignitaries apparently allergic to anyone but their own staff.” She shook her head, making the greenish-brown feathers on the side of her face bounce. “That’s why it’s just you and me in here, pretty much. Well, and him.” She nodded sideways at Anakin, who was trying valiantly to be inconspicuous. Which was not easy when one had a Force presence the size of a small planet to conceal. He was doing admirably so far, bumbling only occasionally and in ways that were utterly in character for an underpaid and underappreciated bodyguard from somewhere near Bespin.

“We’ll make it up to you,” Padme replied with a winning smile. “Another one of these, if you please?”

“Sure,” the bartender whistled. “What brings you two here, anyway?”

“Actually, we were originally intending to surprise my maiden aunt for her birthday. She was supposed to be staying at the Senna…”

“Odd choice for a human,” the bartender said drily, but didn’t follow up. Padme rallied her smile.

“Odd human, my aunt,” she said brightly. “Anyway, I thought I’d barge in and surprise her… only it looks like I managed to miss the most crucial part of her booking information.”

“The bit where she got cancelled with a full refund.” The bartender nodded. “Yeah, the workers were all pretty happy to be paid for their time spent, you know, not working. Except they all went and jumped off-planet right away. And now it’s just you and me, dearie.” She blinked dark beady eyes at Padme, then nudged a blindly prepared cocktail at her across the bar. “Drink to an unexpected vacation on Geonosis, my girl.”

Padme took a sip and harnessed her full diplomatic skills to not let on how much stronger this one was. And how the avian was evidently flirting with her. She had a mission. She graciously passed the glass to Anakin. “You should try this one, Berr. It’s quite good.”

“Not on the job,” Anakin replied stiffly. 

Padme rolled her eyes and laughed. “What job, Berr? Nobody knows I’m here, nobody I know is here, and frankly, nobody is here at all. Look around you!” She gestured at the empty cantina. “Have some fun, man. You’re absolved from your duties for the evening.”

Wrinkling his nose in distaste, Anakin made a show of taking a sip. “Ugh,” he opined. “Sweet.”

Padme grinned. “Quite. Anyway, here’s to a vacation on Geonosis. Courtesy of some spoilsports at the Senna.” She raised the glass, without actually drinking, and put it down firmly in front of Anakin.

The bartender whistled assent. “They’ll get what’s coming to them,” she said. “Or so I hear.”

“Oh?” Padme directed the full power of her smile at her. “I thought they didn’t let anyone in or out?”

“They don’t,” the avian replied sharply. “But until they learn how to brew their own, they’ll still have to take deliveries. Mind you, they don’t let our guys in any more, and every stinkin’ bottle has to be scanned in triplicate, but… that stuff takes long enough for a little gossip.” She laughed a papery laugh. “They’re currently in a life-or-death struggle with one of their dumpsters, it seems.”

Anakin guffawed. “Seriously?” 

Padme chuckled inwardly at how beautifully Anakin managed to portray the utterly-not-Force-sensitive and adorably lightweight bodyguard with a stick up his bottom. That slight touch of inebriation to his voice was genius. _And adorable_.

“Seriously,” the bartender replied, now visibly amused at being the center of attention again. “There’s whispers of it being haunted,” she said conspiratorially. 

“How’s a dumpster get haunted?” Anakin interjected. “Does the trash jump out at you an’ go ‘boo!’?”

“Pretty much,” the avian replied smugly. “Apparently shit starts flying the moment anyone goes near it. Blasting it does nothing, shots just bounce off it.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially, despite the fact that Anakin and Padme were her only customers. “And they get attacked by nightmarish visions when they try to empty it.”

“Visions?” Padme repeated slowly, mind working furiously. “From an incorporeal entity located inside an… inanimate object? Blaster bolts being deflected and objects flying of their own accord?” She slowly turned towards Anakin, who was quick enough to pick up her cue and put up his hands in defense.

“I ain’t volunteering, if that’s what you’re asking!” 

She sighed patiently. “I’m asking you to switch on your _brain_ , Berr. Doesn’t that sound like that thing that you’ve told me about, what was it called…?”

Anakin’s eyes went comically large. “Gonginn!”

Padme nodded sagely. The bartender, now fully captivated, raised a feathery brow-ridge. “Gonginn?” she enquired.

“Native magic from my bodyguard’s homeworld,” Padme picked up the thread. “Think we could sneak a look and try to help out the poor locals - sorry, the poor folks who replaced the locals?”

The bartender cackled. “You might just stand a chance with your charms, honey. Assuming your man here knows how to put on a show.”

“Only one problem,” Anakin butted in, keeping a careful hold on his thick-tongued accent. “They’re not gonna let us in.”

The bartender snickered. “No need any more. They managed to get the thing outside the compound walls and out of sight of their precious guests. Cost them a couple of droids too, that is if the stories are true.”

“Looks like we have found ourselves some temporary entertainment, Berr.” Padme slid the credit chip across the scarred bar and expertly ignored the remainder of her mostly-untouched drink. “Let’s go investigate, shall we?”

***

Three and a half tiers of Neimoidian hierarchy plus a curious Gossam stood back cautiously as Anakin approached the haunted container. It looked unassuming, smaller than he had expected, clad in the dented scraped-up livery of trash containers everywhere, and less than half-full by the look of it. Of course, the latter fact might have something to do with the fact that various bits of its contents were currently scattered about the vacant lot just beyond the perimeter wall of the exclusive Senna compound. Lines on the smooth concrete told of its normal use as parking for rather extensive-sized transports. Lines that were currently marred by splats and scatters of whatever the current denizens of said compound had considered expendable.

Anakin cracked his knuckles and advanced, making a show of caution and reverence for the ghosts of the trashcan.

He raised his hands, palms spread wide. “I come in peace!” he yelled. “Spirit of Gonginn, I have come to appease you, and return to these good people the use of their… trashcan!”

//Hello, Anakin. Good to see you.//

Anakin stapled his magician’s frown in place and continued to yell at the translucent blue figure that had materialized in front of him, leaning casually on the offending container.

“Please accept my sincere apologies for the hurt they have inflicted on you with their blasters and droids. They know not what they are doing.” 

Qui-Gon smirked encouragingly. The assembled spectators fidgeted nervously.

“Kiltith eredu simhaal,” Anakin improvised. “I banish you, and entreat you to relinquish this place. To give me a sign, oh ghost.”

//On it,// Qui-Gon replied matter-of-factly, then reached into the trashcan for a suspiciously symmetrically damaged muja fruit.

Anakin was prepared, and easily caught the ripe fruit in his left hand, squashing it for effect and almost accidentally covering his face in stray spatters of the dark reddish brown of oxidized muja juice. What remained securely in his fist was the reassuring solidity of a data jewel.

“I have received your sign, oh ghost,” Anakin yelled. “We shall take the spatter of blood as the sign of both our victories. Now, leave!”

//Sure thing. Can your comm thingamajiggy handle the volume or do you need directions to Nendar’s hideout, Anakin?//

Anakin cleared his throat, staring wild-eyed at the assembled onlookers and inconspicuously pocketing the data jewel. “I shall require cleansing in seclusion. Spirit, lead the way!”

//You might want to tell them about spirit-requisitioning a speeder bike. It’s a bit of a hike otherwise.//

In rhythm with Anakin’s retreating footfalls, the assembled Neimoidians started kicking each other’s ankles in an attempt to assert hierarchy, or specifically precedence over who would have to go first in approaching the supposedly exorcised trashcan. 

Just as Anakin disappeared behind a convenient rock formation, the compound walls echoed with the triumphant kick of a Neimoidian foot to the side of the container. It toppled over without protest, spilling the remainder of its contents on the concrete. 

Padme joined in the general cheering, prepared to accept Neimoidian gratitude that wasn’t forthcoming, one eye on the doubtless hotwired speeder bike zooming off into the distance.

***

Irdak did his best not to squirm under the unyielding gaze. Those powerful brown eyes did something to him, and for all he knew, intellectually, that this was probably some ingrained reaction of Master Jinn’s Force bugs in his system, he couldn’t help but shudder delicately at the wash of sensations that coursed through his mind and body.

“Well,” Count Dooku said, with a voice that made the hairs on Irdak’s nape stand to attention, “I hadn’t expected to see you again. Hoped, but by no means expected.”

Irdak managed a brief frown, during which he decorously arranged his hands in his lap to cover his exposed genitals. “I don’t believe we have met?” he said softly, tilting his head in question, projecting just enough vulnerability. Given how various bits of his body were actively hurting, that was easy enough.

The towering figure let out a brief laugh. “Not you and I, specifically.” Another appraising look that penetrated deep beneath Irdak’s painted skin. “However, you have quite the resemblance to one I used to know rather well.”

Irdak screwed his eyes shut, shook his head. “People keep telling me that. Of course, the last time someone said that to me, they were about to kick me out of a hospital with a broken arm and no memory.”

“Is that so?” A white eyebrow quirked up slowly, imperiously. “May I inquire as to who _you_ think you are, then?”

“Easy,” Irdak replied. “Name’s Irdak. Yes, just Irdak. Or Incredible Irdak if you go for nicknames. Been in the trade as far back as I can remember.” He paused for effect. “That’s sex work, in case they haven’t briefed you. I was called in here for a job, and then your thugs arrested me.”

Irdak relished the slight look of surprise that seeped through the Count’s flawless defenses. _Good._

“Your accent,” Dooku said quietly, “does not sound local. May I enquire as to where you came from?”

Irdak shrugged eloquently. “Damned if I know. Woke up on Coruscant a good two years ago, if that’s any help. I mean,” he gestured at his horns, “there’s clearly Zabrak in here somewhere but as far as I know I don’t speak that language any better than an elementary student so your guess is as good as mine. Can I go now?”

“Certainly not.” Dooku smiled in a way that made Irdak’s blood resound with a deep, _low_ vibration. “It’s not the Zabrak part of your ancestry that intrigues me.”

“Really?” Irdak leaned back, exposing his nakedness once more. “You’re a bit special, huh? In my line of business, pretty much nobody cares for the _human_ in me.”

“The human in you,” Dooku replied sternly, “was special indeed. And you,” a long finger pointed squarely down at Irdak’s face, “you have more than just his features.”

“Oh fuck,” Irdak said, feigning irritability as best he could against the background noise of his midichlorians clamoring for the Count’s touch. “This the same Jinn Doe character they labeled me with at the hospital? Nobody would ever tell me anything, except they couldn’t agree on whether he was my dad or just some clone source because I’m apparently 68% him.”

“I can tell,” the velvet voice concurred. “I sense him in you.” He sighed softly. “What a waste...”

“ _Excuse me_?” Irdak rose up in indignation, well aware that that resulted in him kneeling up in front of his infuriatingly tall counterpart.

“Qui-Gon Jinn,” Dooku said softly. “That was his name.”

“He’s dead?” Irdak frowned convincingly.

“Ten years dead,” the Count replied. “One of the great Jedi Knights of his generation.” More quietly, he added, “And my apprentice.”

“Uh,” Irdak said, ostensibly digesting the information. “And, it seems, my… father?”

“Your _original_ ,” Dooku said firmly, dark eyes blazing. “You are far more than random offspring. That the Force has sent you my way must be considered one of the great ironies of history. And,” he continued, advancing slowly, sidestepping the cooling body on the ground, until the tips of his boots touched Irdak’s knees. “I appear to have you at a disadvantage, _Irdak_.”

A surprisingly warm hand tilted Irdak’s chin up until he was forced to stare into a pair of deep-set brown eyes, glistening with hope and promise.

“As you stand - _kneel_ \- before me, Irdak, you are nothing. Nothing but unrealized potential, wasted in a career I hesitate to even name. And yet, inside your body, inside your mind, slumbers a power… slumbers _this_!”

Irdak felt the man’s hand tightening on his chin, felt something else tightening on his hearts, an aggressive heat expanding within his center, setting his veins alight with sensation.

“This is what you could be, Irdak. This is your second chance. You have powers you aren’t even aware of. Seize them! And let me lead you to your true self. You belong by my side, Irdak. Listen to your heart, and what it tells you.”

Irdak cast his eyes down coyly. “Actually, I have two.”

Dooku smiled indulgently. “In harmony, then. Don’t tell me you can’t feel it.”

“I…” Irdak swallowed. The pull _was_ overwhelming, the blue and green and red-hot currents vibrating within him, yearning for connection. “I feel… something,” he said finally, quietly. “It’s scary.” He looked up, blue eyes shining wetly under dark lashes, and less than half of that was deliberate, he could tell only too well. The man’s Force aura was unnervingly attuned to his. _Damn you, Qui-Gon Jinn._

//what?//

Irdak’s eyes widened a fraction, and he stiffened, waiting for a reaction from Count Dooku. Nothing was forthcoming.

//To him, we are one and the same, Irdak.//

_Good to have you here,_ Irdak thought dizzily. _I’m not sure I can hold out much longer._

//I’ve got you. We’re good.//

Irdak felt the hand on his chin tighten painfully. “Sinking into meditation, are we?” Dooku’s voice had acquired a steely edge. “How rude of you to not invite me.”

Dooku’s hand left his chin with a sensation akin to a tentacle being ripped from its prey. Irdak winced, then forced himself to meet Dooku’s eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course you don’t.” Dooku shook his head disapprovingly. “Let me show you.” He lowered himself to the ground in a cross-legged position, surprisingly fluidly for a man of his height and age. With a small gesture of his right hand, he commanded the binders on Irdak’s wrists and ankles to arrange his body in a matching pose, hands anchored to the floor in an unyielding magnetic grip. “Open your mind and follow me. That’s it.”

No, it took no dissimulation at all to dip a trembling toe into the unfamiliar waters of the Force - Irdak _was_ terrified of being pulled into the roiling currents by a man evidently intent on destruction… and he was increasingly less certain he would be capable of keeping up the facade in the face of the Count’s commanding presence and very real power over him, shackled and naked as he was. He hoped desperately that his Force bugs would be enough to keep him afloat, and that his resemblance to Qui-Gon would be enough to keep him from getting cast aside, crushed like a bug under Dooku’s heel.

Irdak gasped as the wave hit him, a palpable sensation of pressure on his skin, tumbling him over and over as he struggled to breathe, to fight his way to the top. Wherever that was. Words like ‘up’ and ‘down’ appeared to have lost their meaning and he felt as small and helplessly submerged as he had that first time Obi-Wan had guided him… but what was surrounding him now bore no resemblance to the shimmering blue and green currents that he had slowly, hesitantly and eventually joyfully learned to swim in.

A dark, oily-looking pool of indeterminate color - or lack of color, he supposed - filled his vision, framed by wiry bright veins of a red that was alive with metallic reflections, thick and coppery and stinging with a heat that threatened to pull Irdak back under the moment he thrust his head above their vibrating surface. This Force clung to him, filling him with sensation so familiar and yet so alien - here and now, it was not the bliss of merging with a loved one coursing through his veins; it was an altogether different, more electric sensation, the jitter of imminent death and something that transcended death, something that seemed poised to devour him and make him part of its suffocating metallic heat -

The specter of a long white hand slid along Irdak’s cheek, cupping his chin and pulling up.

“You are struggling to stay afloat, my boy,” the calm velvety voice intoned. “Spending your tiny spark of Force just to swim. When really, you have the ability to walk on the water.”

Irdak’s world tilted sideways and he felt his wrists tugging on his restraints as the roiling currents around him fell away, solidifying far below his feet into a mesmerizing, iridescent mosaic of darks and reds and coppers.

“What is this?” he asked, his voice raspy and small.

“This is the Force, Irdak,” Dooku replied softly. “The currents that bind us, carry us, fill us with life. That dark pool is the life force you took from the deplorable character who attempted to assault you.” He smiled indulgently. “Next time, you will be able to absorb it into your own.”

“N-next time?”

“Next time it becomes necessary to… part an attacker from their life.” Irdak felt the blade-sharp smile in the Force and reflexively clung tighter to the spectral hand.

“This… this is what the Jedi do?” he asked, shivering.

“No, Irdak.” Dooku’s voice had grown louder and even more sonorous, filling the small cell with its thick dark resonance. “This is what empowered Force users do.”

In his mind’s eye, sharper than any dream he ever remembered having, rose the image of a planet, birthed out of the roiling currents, floating up and up towards him, bustling with life and energy, its expanding horizon filling his field of vision until the edges of it were merging with the veins in the back of his eyes, folding in on themselves - no, it was not his vision that was collapsing, it was the planet! Crushed by forces unimaginable at this scale, the vein-fire racing across its surface as great chunks of rock shattered and caved in on themselves, obliterated by irresistible pressure, leaving behind a shapeless, red-hot ember of energy, the life crushed out of it and subsumed into - no! It could not be!

“It is. Allow yourself to see your true potential, Irdak.”

...subsumed into the palm of his hand. Unmistakably his broad, blunt-fingered hand. His tattooed wrist. Reeling, Irdak opened his mind’s eye wide to take in the galaxy-sized apparition of _himself_ , fed on the life of planets, walking on the currents of the Force and clad in the blackness of space. His eyes shone like twin suns, incandescent and golden and radiating with the power to bring life and to incinerate it all in the same breath.

“Intoxicating,” he breathed, throbbing with the urgent heat of suns in his skull. “That this is… in me, I mean.” He had to blink a few times to remind himself that here, in the real world, his eyes were still small and blue and tired.

“There is so much in you, Irdak. We haven’t even begun to scratch the surface.” A manicured nail traced one of the tattooed lines up the outside of Irdak’s thigh, and he shivered with the sensation, squirming a little, the senseless metal grip of the manacles grounding him in this sad reality once more.

It took one accusing glance from still-blue eyes to make Dooku smile.

“Ah yes. I take it we won’t need these anymore now, will we?”

“No.” 

With a snap of Dooku’s fingers, the binders fell open, releasing Irdak’s limbs.

With a snap of connection, he found one newly-freed hand picked up in Dooku’s and raised to the older man’s forehead.

“Welcome back, my apprentice.”

Irdak frowned. “Do I have to call you Master now?” he asked, the unsteadiness in his voice mercifully melted away under the heat of his vision’s sun-eyes.

“That would be traditional,” Dooku replied. “And it would please the sentimental old man in me to hear that word from your delectable mouth. You have his voice, and his talent, Irdak. And his sensuality.”

A Force caress slid up the side of Irdak’s face, looping around the roots of several horns at once and thickening, drawing a warm groan of pleasure from Irdak. His self-control had gone brittle under the heat of the planet-sized fire he had just witnessed. In his own hand, no less. He swallowed, marshalling his voice. _His_ voice.

“I am my own person!” he said, loud and clear. “I am _Irdak_. Master.”

“Ah, and you have his rebellious streak too,” Dooku replied with a sharp smile. “What a treasure. What a diamond you will be when I am finished with you. For now, you will indeed be Irdak. Until you will earn yourself a new name.”

Dooku rose up to his full height, pulling Irdak up by the hand he was still holding by the wrist.

“And much though I enjoy looking at you in your natural glory,” he continued, “that sight is not fit for the rest of the world. Let us get you fed and clothed before we begin your training in earnest, shall we?”

The hand let go of his wrist, but the Force tendril on his face took a long time to fade as Irdak followed his new old Master’s measured strides along the labyrinthine corridors of the Senna compound.

He tried to reach for Qui-Gon but found only echoes of his inner voice, reflected off the coppery surface of the Force he was now walking on, barefoot, terrified, and aflame with possibility.


	5. Converging

“Master Nendar! Open up!”

Anakin felt like an idiot pounding against a bare rock face, but that was where Master Jinn had told him to make noise, and so he did. And sure enough, moments later a grumpy Iktotchi face appeared from a previously concealed crack in the rock.

“Too much traffic around here these days,” it said. “Anyway, since you know my name, I assume you are from the old folks’ home?”

Anakin swallowed, suddenly acutely aware that neither robes nor Padawan braid marked him as a Jedi. He nodded and was halfway to digging his lightsaber out of the cargo pocket on his uniform pants when Nendar all but grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him inside. 

“Uh, Padawan Anakin Skywalker,” he said breathlessly. “I need to use your comm terminal on a mission of utmost importance. Actually, I may need to _rewire_ your comm terminal…”

Nendar grunted. “With a view to stopping your Master from finding you?” The toothy expression on the old Iktotchi’s features was probably intended as a smile, Anakin guessed. “He’s only been on the comm five times in the last day or so. Although it wasn’t you he was mostly worried about.”

“I can imagine,” Anakin replied grimly, laying out the data jewel and his own portable comm, and levering the cover off Nendar’s terminal. “This is not the first time I’m rescuing him either. Although if this contains what I think it does, the galaxy is going to thank him for running off to get it.” He wiped the data jewel clean of the last traces of muja juice and handed it to an unresisting Nendar. “Can you check the contents of this thing please while I rig your comm to hopefully fly under the radar of Geonosian planetary security? They’re a bit tetchy for transmissions these days, with how much offworld traffic has been coming and going lately…”

“And how do I do that?” Nendar asked gruffly. “I’m not exactly set up for mobile physical storage in here.”

“Right.” Anakin nodded sharply, rubbed his forehead. “I really wish my idiot brother hadn’t gotten himself captured. I could have just had him do this bit seeing as he’s a droid tech these days.”

Anakin had switched seamlessly to liberating wires out of Nendar’s computing unit before Nendar had formulated his response. “You don’t look like brothers,” the older Jedi said lamely.

“It’s complicated,” Anakin replied. “Five different mothers, a distinct shortage of fathers, some genetic engineering, and the ghost of a Jedi Master you may have heard of. And no, we’re not genetically related, you’ve got that right. Anyway, hold this wire to that contact - there. If you can run your computing unit with one hand, you’re all set. It comes in as a directory now.”

Nendar nodded and took over, one clawed hand dancing over the control panel while the other held the delicate wire to the data jewel. Anakin was already knee-deep in the innards of the comm terminal before a surprised croak from Nendar alerted him to the contents of the data jewel.

In front of the commuting unit’s holoprojection emitter stood a three-dimensional, eye-wateringly detailed blueprint of a battle station the size of a small planet. It spun lazily on its axis, surrounded by descriptions and hyperlinks to cross-sections, weapons specifications, and operative details.

Anakin’s eyes went as large and round as the lethal star-destroying superweapon floating in front of his face. Nendar’s would have if they’d been physically capable.

“That’s what the Separatists are building?” Nendar asked, voice lowered to a raspy whisper at the sight. 

“Trying to,” Anakin replied, not much louder. “We need to get this to the High Council. And the Senate. This is evidence of the first order, Master.”

Nendar swallowed. “And I thought raising an army for the Republic was overkill…”

Anakin exhaled softly. “We were all mistaken, it seems. Anyway, give me a second to shore up the security on your terminal and we should be good to go. Can you move the files to your internal storage? As much as you can fit?”

Nendar’s claws danced some more, and the star-killing station crumpled back into data packets, primed and ready to traverse the galaxy.

Anakin slammed the cover back on the comm unit and powered it up. “Now or never, I guess. You have a preset for Coruscant HQ? As close to the High Council as we can get?”

Nendar nodded hastily and flipped a couple of controls. “That should get us a very grumpy Master Windu.”

“Fantastic.” The sarcasm in Anakin’s voice was eclipsed by excitement. “We’ll know it’s him if his first word is -”

“Sithspit, Nendar! You’re breaking up a Senate conference! This better be important!”

“It is, Master Windu. Anakin Skywalker here, on the ground on Geonosis. We have secured the line as best we can, but we have no visual. Please confirm you are receiving, Master.”

“Loud and clear. Hold on, let me get Yoda off the other… there. We’re all ears.”

Anakin thought he heard the whack of a stick in the background. _Master Yoda was born all ears._ “Transmitting the files secured from the Separatist summit. We obviously have the physical evidence here on site but… you might want to see those plans, Masters.”

A few seconds of staticky silence, then Master Windu’s voice broke through. 

“Sith. I mean, we were expecting _something_ but this is…” - “Sith,” Master Yoda’s voice cut in. “Learn to use the word in its original meaning, we will have to. Mere Galactic politics, this is not. Hmm.”

Anakin heard Master Windu’s voice in the background opening comm channels to Force knew where, talking rapidly and shouting for assistance. “Sending who we have in the quadrant to break this summit up,” Yoda assured him curtly between murmured conversations with Master Windu and whoever else had assembled on the other end of the line. “Safe, you are?”

“Me? Yes, me and Master Nendar are safe…”

“Good. Watch out for reinforcements.” That was Windu again, forestalling any discussion of Irdak’s whereabouts, let alone uncomfortable questions about a certain Senator from Naboo. “First one should be on the ground in an hour maybe, and then more.”

“One more thing, Masters.”

“What?”

“The Geonosians are on high alert for off-planet transmissions. I’ve rigged Master Nendar’s comm to be safe, for now anyway. Relay to anyone else coming in to keep transmission silence until they’re eyes on the ground. There’s not a _massive_ amount of armed droid security around the compound, but enough to cost us lives if we’re not careful.”

“Copy that. Eyes only. Windu out.”

Anakin exhaled deeply, letting himself slump against the reddish walls of Master Nendar’s hideout. “I’d better get back out there to wave them in and cover them when they show up,” he said. “Can I bother you for some water and a ration bar maybe? The last thing I had was rather sickly and alcoholic, and I need something in my stomach if this is going to turn into a battle.”

Nendar shook his head. “You and your brother owe me dinner when this is over,” he grumbled, bending down to murder some more of his colony of grubs. “And I thought Windu had hung up. What’s all the noise on the comm?”

“Uh.” Anakin pulled the volume on the comm terminal down to zero, to no avail. Then he realized that there was another comm in the room - the one on his belt. Hurriedly, he pulled it out and had it halfway to his face to yell at Obi-Wan to cut transmission and that the signal was being tracked when he heard his suspicions confirmed in the worst possible way.

Stunned, Anakin leaned against the wall, listening to the sounds of his Master manoeuvering his under-fire shuttle to an emergency landing that ended, after interminable moments of blaring alarms, blaster fire, and Obi-Wan’s own labored breathing, with the sound of Obi-Wan’s own voice, shaken but firm. 

“I surrender -”

The transmission cut out abruptly.

***

Droids. Mercifully, droids. They had done as they had been programmed to do, and left. No insults, no unnecessary injuries, no sneering or attempts at intimidation. _How civilized,_ Obi-Wan thought randomly, then dismissed the thought immediately. He knew only too well that droid interrogators could be, and often were, worse than human ones.

True, the droids that had captured him had merely gone through the steps of their routine protocol: disarm, restrain, confine. With no notions in their electronic brains about throwing prisoners to the ground or making them kneel, they had simply locked the magnetic restraints in place and left him where he was, standing in the middle of an otherwise featureless cell, legs slightly apart and feet anchored in place by what felt like extremely powerful magnets embedded in a pair of separate ankle cuffs. 

His hands they’d simply locked together behind his back and left it at that.

Interestingly, no Force measures. Sloppy droid supervision, probably. Or hubris on his captors’ part. _Who would consider my Force abilities to pose no threat to them?_ Obi-Wan thought. He didn’t like any of the potential answers.

When he heard footsteps approach, slow, measured, and even, his fear spiked for a second. Then, he heard the murmur of a deep human voice, too distant still to be intelligible, but definitely not the clipped tones of a droid. Who was he speaking to though? There was no second set of footfalls, nor the telltale whirr of a droid’s propulsion systems.

When the narrower wall of the holding cell flickered open for a second, Obi-Wan let out a sharp gasp. _Who’s not afraid of a Jedi Master? An ex-Jedi Master._ It made perfect sense.

“Count Dooku.”

“So kind of you to join us, Master Kenobi.” Disquietingly, the smile seemed genuine. “Really, I could not have wished for a better emissary from the Order. Qui-Gon always spoke very highly of you.” A pause. “I wish he were still alive. I could use his help right now.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes flickered to the edges of his vision and back. _Did Dooku know? Would he sense Qui-Gon’s presence if Obi-Wan reached for it?_ Deciding to play it safe, Obi-Wan steeled his resolve and stood up a tiny bit straighter. The way the cuffs were pulling his shoulders back, oddly, helped.

“Qui-Gon Jinn would never join you.”

“Don’t be so sure, my young Jedi.” Dooku had advanced only a couple of steps. Enough to tower over Obi-Wan and force him to look up to meet his captor’s eyes. “If he were here today I am certain he would beg you to reconsider.” A sigh. “You are headed for a cataclysm of galactic proportion, Obi-Wan. You and the Jedi Order.”

“I doubt that.” The steel in his voice was wearing thin.

“Consider, then,” Dooku continued, “recent developments in the Senate. Does it not bother you to witness the creation of a Grand Army in mere weeks? An army that, as it turns out, has been _grown_ for years for the express purpose of waging war across the Galaxy?”

Obi-Wan bit his lip, reining in a barbed retort. He had to see where this was going first.

“There are dark forces at play, Obi-Wan, and we need all the help we can get to arm ourselves against them. The Senate is lost to us, and to you -”

“Impossible!” Obi-Wan’s temper boiled over. “The Jedi would know!”

“Ah, but the Dark Side of the Force clouds their vision. The Jedi,” Dooku continued mildly but not meekly, “have cultivated a planet-sized blind spot when it comes to the use of that aspect, _Master_ Kenobi.”

“You speak of the Sith.” Obi-Wan let the tinge of sneer seep into his voice. This was patently absurd.

“Indeed.”

“Sith in the Senate? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You say this now…”

“You,” Obi-Wan interrupted angrily, “are saying this because you think I will fall for the bait. Because it is public knowledge that I lost my Master to a Sith. The first one to reappear in a millennium!”

“And I,” Dooku answered softly, “lost my apprentice. But if I alone cannot convince you to reconsider and join me, I may have a more compelling argument at hand as it were.”

The smile on the old man’s face was back, with more unnerving warmth than it had any right to be, and one of his bony hands gestured casually at the wall. It slipped open again, and this time Obi-Wan lost the battle against his emotions. A small gasp rang out in the silent cell.

_Barefoot. Of course. No footfalls._

He was also clad in soft black from head to toe. _Likely Dooku’s spares,_ Obi-Wan thought, desperate for a thought that wouldn’t broadcast a beacon of _Irdak! Thank the Force you’re alive!_ for everyone to hear. 

The Force, for what it was worth, remained stubbornly silent. No sound passed Irdak’s lips, and no familiar warmth echoed in the Force. Obi-Wan was afraid to probe too deeply, for fear of what he would find. For fear of having his existence of the last two years sucked into the dark silhouette that stood there, motionless, impeccably Irdak from horns to toes and yet a roiling void in the Force.

“Meet my new apprentice,” Dooku said simply. “You may notice a certain resemblance.” Turning to Irdak, he continued, “He’s yours. Any means necessary. I trust your blood and the Force will tell you where the cracks are because let’s just say your… original and he had… history.”

“History.” Irdak quirked an eyebrow. “I would love to hear it some time, Master. He looks delectable. May I have the pleasure of your name, Master Jedi, before we get started?”

Obi-Wan remained silent, not trusting his voice to not betray his feelings. If Irdak was playing Dooku, he would need all the support he could get to stay afloat in the currents of the Dark Side… and if he… no, the alternative did not bear thinking about.

“So quiet,” Irdak purred, running a fingertip along Obi-Wan’s lips. “Pity. I would prefer to hear that voice in conversation rather than screams.” The finger trailed lower, petting Obi-Wan’s chin, along his jaw, making the bristles of his beard rustle in the intense silence. 

Then the hand settled around his throat and squeezed gently, once, twice.

“I see they didn’t put a _collar_ on you. I like a challenge,” Irdak whispered in Obi-Wan’s ear. Loud enough for Dooku to hear of course, but close enough for the fleeting kiss that punctuated the end of that sentence to get lost to any observer. 

Obi-Wan inhaled sharply, then nodded. _Oh Irdak. You’re still in there. Hold on for me._

Irdak squeezed Obi-Wan’s throat once more for good measure, and this time Obi-Wan smiled. _Take what you need from me, Irdak. I know you can’t hear me but… I’m yours._

“No?” Irdak’s lips were now indecently close to Obi-Wan’s face, the trembling warmth of his breath exhilarating. “No name? Fine… I may have to name _you_ then. Like your kind once did to me. Before they kicked me out on the street.”

The kick to Obi-Wan’s shin was less than intimidating, coming from a bare foot, but the suddenness of it knocked Obi-Wan off balance anyway. And for all that he was easily able to breathe through the pain, he needed his wits about him if they were to both make it through this without getting themselves summarily Force-choked by a rogue Master Dooku.

“You know what they named me, Jedi? No, of course you don’t, why would you?” Irdak waved a hand dismissively. “Stopped at a random page in the Zabrak dictionary and ended up with ‘Irdak’. Maybe I should do that to you, what do you think?” He took a step back, tilting Obi-Wan’s chin up slightly. “Hmmmm, what word springs to mind when I look at you, Jedi? Standing proud, legs apart, hands bound… such a prize.” 

Without warning, Irdak’s other hand closed on Obi-Wan’s crotch and squeezed, hard. Obi-Wan let out a strangled gasp.

“No.” Irdak shook his head slowly. “That’s not a good name. Come to think of it, that’s not even a word. You’ll have to do better than that.” He tightened his hand further, already-pale knuckles whitening to perfect ivory.

“Obi-Wan,” the Jedi ground out. “My name is Obi-Wan.”

***

The speeder bike skidded to a pathetic juddering halt about fifty meters outside the cantina, keeling over slowly from lack of fuel. Anakin had jumped off just in time; the squat brown-robed figure that had been riding pillion had managed to avoid getting any part of him caught under the softly whining machinery too, and was keeping up with Anakin’s long legs quite admirably.

Padme had settled her bill and was in the middle of making her goodbyes to her new feathered friend - Eeshna, she had finally managed to get her name - when Anakin burst through the door, all but grabbing her around the waist and ushering her outside.

“The Jedi are coming,” he barked, ostensibly at both her and the other Jedi. “No comms, visual only. And Obi-Wan’s been captured so we’re rescuing him too now. Anyway, we need to provide what cover we can. Force-pushes, deflected blaster bolts, that sort of thing. You take this -” he thrust his comm into her hand. “I’ve set it to route through Master Nendar’s stationary comm. It’s our only safe channel. Listen for who’s incoming. Be my antenna. You got that, Padme?”

Padme nodded slowly, processing this new level of intensity from Anakin. “Like the toilet you used for that purpose last time?” she said, finally.

Anakin gaped for a second, then literally slapped himself out of it, hand on his forehead. “You know what I mean,” he corrected himself. “Be my ears.”

“Better.”

***

“Obi-Wan. Welcome home, then, Obi-Wan.” 

His voice sounded deep but hollow, and Irdak wondered if anyone else noticed. Obi-Wan, certainly. Dooku? He hoped, fiercely, not.

_Any means necessary_. Irdak’s head felt like it was being crushed from the inside, the dregs of his personality seeping into the cracks, out of reach. All hollow, only a matter of time before the veneer of the seasoned torturer cracked. Force knew he’d played the part (more often than not, had had the part played _at_ him since a willowy Zabrak-looking boy who would play the submissive was a hot commodity in the establishments of Coruscant), but playing the part could only get you so far.

And that, all that, had been willing role-play, and years ago. This, here, now, for all that it involved Obi-Wan, was anything but. 

“We can keep you here indefinitely, you know,” he improvised, scraping up what he remembered from his own less than stellar welcome to this place. _Traces of that creep’s blood are probably still on the floor._ He clawed his bare toes into the cool smooth material, seeking a foothold. “Until you see the error of your ways. Or give in to the… benefits.”

He leaned in closer, deliberately unbalancing Obi-Wan - to ostensibly make him uncomfortable, but also, truth to be told, to have an excuse to _hold him_ , to wrap his arms around that beloved compact body, run his fingers over the brushed metal of the cuffs at his wrists and, just for a second, drop the mask and simply inhale Obi-Wan’s scent.

It was enough for a few breaths, but no more.

_Any means necessary._

That was exactly what he had done. Cut himself off from the roiling maelstrom that was the Force in this place, knowing that left unchecked, it would bend to Dooku’s wishes and simply devour him, make him into that dark, planet-swallowing demon he had seen. Looking inward, he could still see it deep underfoot, could taste its metallic tang on his lips. Between him and it lay a glass-thin layer of black ice. And he was barefoot.

Lances of pain shot up through his feet from the sheer effort it took to keep himself upright. Walking on ice was out of the question, and he was positive the forces of gravity would pull him straight through the thin brittle layer if he moved one muscle. Petrified inside, he clung to the one thing he had filling his field of vision. Obi-Wan’s face. Silent, calm, _warm_.

He ran a questing finger across Obi-Wan’s lips, as he had done so often in happier days, requesting entrance to the warmth and being granted possession of his beloved’s mouth with a smile. Now, the lips remained stoically closed, holding in all the softness, all the warmth, all the words of love that rang hollow in the recesses of Irdak’s mind, crushed into the cracks in the ice. 

_Any means necessary. Open up, Obi-Wan!_

He dug a fingernail deep into the edge of Obi-Wan’s upper lip, watched it quiver in pain but remain closed. Drew a line of sharp pain out to the corner of his mouth, chasing the echo of that smile, pulling the tender flesh into a grimace. Felt something, _something_ give way and looked into Obi-Wan’s eyes, brimming but steel-blue, and saw. Saw the current coiled there in the depths of those eyes, just within his reach. But he would have to reach in and rip it from him. Tear it out into the open like the inside of that planet.

In his hands, Irdak held a lifeline, and he was terrified to grasp it, for fear of what that would do to Obi-Wan. 

The only way to go was to fall. Fall forward, and hope the ice held.

He reached inside Obi-Wan’s mind, willed the bright blue energy to wrap around his hand, and tugged.

Obi-Wan’s mouth broke open in a scream.

Electricity zinging up his arm and someone else’s breath echoing in his head, Irdak tumbled forward and flew. Distantly, he felt Obi-Wan’s body going limp against his, felt the black ice tilt away from his feet at a dizzying angle, felt the pain of being physically jerked upright by a rod of energy going up his spine, the echo of agony freezing all his limbs.

His vision swam. A different pair of eyes had replaced Obi-Wan’s. Older, deeper, bluer.

//Hold him, Irdak. Hold on. In your mind.//

Breath burning in his lungs, Irdak looked down at where Obi-Wan had collapsed, an untidy heap of humanity curled around his feet.

_Any means necessary. He understood._

In the back of his mind, a larger, darker smile spread its wings, and he dared not look behind him to see Dooku’s expression. He crouched down and laid a hand to the side of Obi-Wan’s neck. 

There, lighting up the tattered end of a strand of life torn from him, beat a slow, fluttering pulse.

***

“Damage report?” 

Anakin’s voice rang out unnaturally loud, and it took Padme a second to realize that that was because the din of blaster fire, shrieking ship engines, and exploding droids had finally given way to an eerie silence.

The answer was a cough as Agen Kolar emerged from behind the wreckage of a droideka, attempting and failing to use his wide sleeves to wave the smoke off his face. He sketched a bow to the younger Jedi, then bared his teeth in a savage grin. “We did good, Skywalker. The Starfighter is unlikely to get off the ground in the shape it’s in, and Joram’s saber took a critical and burned out. Other than that…” the Zabrak gestured at his slight limp as he advanced. “Looks like the only one that didn’t get away with mechanical mayhem and murder was me.”

Anakin nodded, brow furrowed. “Can you walk?”

“For now, yes. I suspect that’s going to change in an hour or so, but there’s no way I’m not going with you, Skywalker. And… after this, I’m having a hard time calling you Padawan Skywalker.”

Anakin smiled. “Noted, Master. And thank you.”

The rest of their ragtag band of Jedi sheathed their weapons and gravitated to where Anakin was standing, faded uniform singed in a few places, lightsaber pointed at the ground, surrounded by droid wreckage, radiating purpose and hope.

The comm in Padme’s hand chose that exact moment to crackle into action. She joined the gaggle of Jedi and hushed them with a quick gesture.

“...status?” They had to lean in to hear.

“We have feet on the ground,” Anakin reported. “Droids neutralized. No casualties.”

The static gained tone for a moment, as if a sigh had traveled halfway across the galaxy. Then, Master Yoda’s voice struggled free from the makeshift signal.

“Rescue my Padawans, you will.” A pause. “All of them. May the Force be with you.”

“It is.” Padme’s voice was grim, but her gaze was steady and full of light as she locked eyes with Anakin. “Thank, you, Master.” 

She disconnected the comm and bent down to drag what she hoped was a functional blaster from the busted arms of the nearest battle droid. She hefted it on to her shoulder and smiled at the assembled Jedi. “Let’s go pick some Jedi.”

***

Irdak found himself pulled up by an unresisting hand, his ears still ringing. From somewhere in the middle distance, a voice spoke to him in soothing tones. _Well done, my young apprentice._

_No,_ he wanted to scream, and couldn’t. Stood there held up by one hand, transfixed by a pair of dark, dark eyes, searching for the reflection of his own face in them. Afraid he would find a pair of amber suns staring back at him. 

He didn’t hear the noises outside until they’d already broken through the walls, felt the singeing heat of Dooku’s red blade as it extended quietly from its hilt. A single-handed weapon. Dooku’s other hand was still holding on to him. _Am I his other weapon now?_

The walls literally split open with energy blades and battering rams of Force, wielded by what felt like an army of souls invading the tiny space. Out there were bright flaming sparks of Light, shouting faces and shining eyes and a woman with a blaster, and none of it penetrated his brittle bubble of space that contained a crumpled human body and a red blade and a hard hand that held on to his - and with ice-shard clarity, Irdak knew there was only one thing left for him to do, and it was to _connect_.

With the last of his strength, Irdak felt his forehead connect with Dooku’s face. Horns at eye level. Felt the stumble of the tall old Master as he recoiled, and sent his hands after it to help him hit the floor faster. Ripped the elegant curved hilt out of a hand still in the process of falling slack, and stood up straight, red blade pointing at the ground, facing the wall of bright eyes.

Sheathed the blade almost on autopilot. An unfamiliar weapon, and yet it responded to him. 

_Qui-Gon… help…_

Bodies rushed at him, past him to the fallen ones, to neutralize Dooku and pick up Obi-Wan, currents of people flowing past him as if he were a rock in the middle of a stream, leaving him standing, frozen, armed with a red blade and clad in black and yet of no interest to them. _Have I died? Is that what’s happening?_

//Not that I know of.// A pair of crinkly blue eyes appeared right in front of him, and his blurred vision resolved into the image of a larger-than-life Jedi Master busy directing the rescuing party around Irdak. //Working on making sure that I remain the only dead one in the room. Hold on.//

Irdak did. Literally. Dropped the lightsaber and wrapped his arms around the apparition, letting his echoing head rest on a familiar shoulder, breathing in the faint light of Qui-Gon’s presence, a tiny oasis of calm in the storm raging around him. There was a blue blade pointed at his head, almost perfectly bisecting Qui-Gon’s incorporeal shoulder, and he couldn’t summon the energy to be alarmed any more. If this was to be his end, then so be it. He hoped to go where Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were…

//Anakin. Need a hand here.//

The commotion stilled abruptly as Anakin held up a hand, then slowly and deliberately pointed at where the tip of Master Nendar’s lightsaber rested on thin air. Thin air that was… blue. And made of coalescing memories.

The tip of the lightsaber sank in time with the jaw of its wielder. “Jinn…?”

//The same.//

“I… what... you…” No, Master Nendar had never been a man of many words.

A crinkly blue smile. //Thank you for coming to rescue my little disaster family.//

More eyes blinked the Force apparition into shape, expressions of wonder commensurate with how much interaction with Qui-Gon they had had in their lifetimes. 

//I’m assuming enough of you can hear me to understand that _everyone_ in this room is in need of help. There are no evildoers and victims here, though it may look different to you.//

“Master Jinn.” Anakin’s voice was loud and clear. “We were tasked by Master Yoda with rescuing _all_ of his apprentices. I think he would agree with you that that includes Master Dooku?”

//Certainly, my wise Grandpadawan. Though you may want to transfer the restraints from my Padawan to my Master. For the time being, anyway. And then let’s get out of here before the pitiful non-droid security gets over its rigor and decides to try something. Because I’m fresh out of trash to throw.//

Anakin laughed, caring little that most of the assembled forces had no idea what was funny about that. “Understood. Nendar, Joram, can you handle Master Dooku? Face up, please, that looks like a nasty cut. On top of whatever concussion he’s got from a Zabrak skull crashing into his...”

“Obi-Wan’s conscious.” That was Padme’s voice quietly cutting through Anakin’s confident commands, and a second later the wave of relief in the Force confirmed that yes, his Master was in fact happy to see him. 

“Anakin.” A weary smile spread across Obi-Wan’s features. “I’m sorry - it appears you’ve had to rescue me yet again.” A deep breath that sounded harsh, as if Obi-Wan’s insides needed re-expanding after a crushing ordeal. “I feel like a bag of rocks, but I should be able to walk, once someone gets these off me.” He shrugged at the restraints still locking his ankles to the floor and his wrists together. “Is Irdak…”

“Yes,” a shaky voice replied from far above him. “I am. You… Obi-Wan, your Light. I am so glad to see you alive. I was afraid I had…”

“And if you had,” Obi-Wan said hoarsely, “it would have been worth it to keep the Light in the world.”

“No!” Irdak recoiled a little at the force of his own voice. “Not without you to give that Light a home!”

//In time, you will see that it doesn’t matter whose Light resides where. For now, let’s get everyone’s Light and Dark out of here.//

“Yes, Master.” That had been at least three voices, and at least three of them laughed in harmony as they began their escape in earnest.


	6. Retracing

**Republic Cruiser _Dikaiosyne_ , medical bay, 1745 hrs ship time**

No amount of arguing had helped - not the reasonable arguments of how Master Kenobi was surely in more need of a good medical examination (he was, and he had received one), or of how he was well aware that with so many extra bodies on board they might be running out of guest bunks but he actually _preferred_ sleeping in the cargo hold to sleeping in a med bay, ever. 

In the end, he had resorted to Force suggestions, and shouting. And had gotten exactly nowhere because the ship’s entire medical staff consisted of three droids, and they had turned down the volume on their sound receivers and stoically informed him that as far as they were concerned, those ligaments in his right ankle needed to remain _attached_ to each other, and that they would be only too happy to attach his entire body to the med bay bed if required, to ensure that the patient refrained from putting weight on said ankle too soon.

Grinding his teeth, Agen Kolar had let his head flop back on to the pitiful pillow and set his mind to healing that stupid ankle as quickly as Zabrakly possible. And not costing the Republic another pillow in the process.

**Republic Cruiser _Dikaiosyne_ , holding cell, 1857 hrs ship time**

Calling it a holding cell was a little generous; they had, however, assigned the remaining half-decent quarters to the Jedi first, and so the space that currently functioned as a holding cell had indeed started out as storage. Its current occupant was seated on a pair of sleeping pads hastily rolled out on the floor to accommodate his uncommon height. Head cradled in one hand, he appeared to be ruminating. Meditating, perhaps. Or nursing a planet-sized headache.

The medical droids had cleared him for space travel and patched up the gash in his eye socket from Irdak’s silver horn, and ever since then a full-time rotation of Jedi had been on guard duty outside the cell since the _Dikaiosyne_ did not come equipped with any kind of Force-suppressing technology.

The guard shifts were uneventful; the prisoner appeared to be resigned to his fate or at least aware that he would not stand much of a chance unarmed and on a fully crewed Republic ship with several Jedi Masters on board.

The first night shift reported hearing him sing softly to himself, in a surprisingly full and rich baritone.

The second night shift reported the spectral apparition of Master Jinn seating himself in the corridor just outside the makeshift holding cell, mirroring the posture of his old Master, and listening.

//Serennoan love ballads. Interesting what the heart falls back on in times of need, isn’t it?//

**Republic Cruiser _Dikaiosyne_ , Crew Galley, 1907 hrs ship time**

She was really glad the Zabrak kid wasn’t keen on going after her. For all that she hated seeing him celebrated for essentially failing his way through a mission, she had to admit he was made of tougher stuff than she had expected.

She had requested reassignment the moment the ship had left Geonosian orbit, and her request had been granted without questioning. And, thankfully, without any mention of past rancor between her and the boy… Irdak. Everyone knew his name now, she might as well start using it.

Sighing, Kinz shoved the caf capsule into the machine and waited for the brew to be done. She knew better than to drink stimulants this late into the ship’s day-night cycle, but she figured she might as well stay awake and get a head start on tomorrow’s to-do list. Wouldn’t do to leave the _Dikaiosyne_ with a black mark on her report card.

_Fuck that Zabrak kid,_ she thought darkly, then, upon consideration, realized that that was probably an accurate description of what was happening to him at this precise moment. Disgusted, she took a sip of the bitter brew and chucked the spent capsule into the trash.

The trash threw it back at her.

**Republic Cruiser _Dikaiosyne_ , crew quarters #23, 2112 hrs ship time**

The moment it had become clear that Padawan Skywalker would be Knighted the second he set foot on Coruscant, he had all but sequestered himself in his quarters for the duration of the journey.

_Their_ quarters, to be precise. 

The Senator had adamantly refused accommodation appropriate to her status and, not to put too fine a point on it, gender, and had similarly disappeared from social life, only showing up briefly to forage for food whenever Anakin absolutely had to show his face to the comm in order to keep the Council up to speed.

They both knew that the future would hold an unending parade of scheduling conflicts, and that Anakin’s time as her loyal bodyguard would be over in a matter of days. Well, technically that had been over the moment he assumed the mantle of Jedi Knight back on Geonosis… but she _liked_ the way he was guarding her body. Repeatedly.

She loved the way he looked in black, and had in fact taken it upon herself to negotiate the handover of the finely tailored black outfit Irdak had discarded the moment he was able to think clearly again. The pants had been a tiny bit long but molded to Anakin’s powerful thighs quite satisfyingly, and the way the draped silk sash accentuated his broad shoulders was simply exquisite. 

And it made for a very convenient handle.

Her arms laden with unhealthy snacks and bottled drinks from the crew galley, Padme stooped to pick up a stray caf capsule on the floor and caught a blurry reflection of herself in the polished side wall of the refrigeration unit.

She would be barely recognizable to her constituents, looking unkempt and underslept, wrapped in an oversized soft bathrobe. Most of all, she looked extremely well-fucked.

And that, she thought with a smirk, was nothing compared to what Anakin looked like.

**Republic Cruiser _Dikaiosyne_ , crew quarters #41, 0254 hrs ship time**

Metal, at least, behaved as expected, and that was a relief.

He’d had a hard time sleeping after the events of the last few days - hours? Weeks? - and so he had resorted to the one thing available that had been a source of comfort to him before: tinkering with electronics.

Wires, when soldered in place, would bend to his will and hold on. Circuits would form an orderly map according to the plan in his mind’s eye. Simple.

The inner sea chart of Irdak’s mind was far from simple, and his toes curled just thinking of it. The searing copper and roiling black had receded to the edges of his vision, but he could sense them lurking there, swirling around the dark stain that refused to dissolve.

He had taken a life. 

They had assured him that it had been patently in self-defense, and that he had nothing to fear from the law, but they had missed the point entirely. It was not the law he feared. It was fear. Fear of what those hands of his would be capable of doing when pushed to extremes. 

Hands, large and seemingly clumsy hands, that were utterly steady, innocently putting tiny electronic contacts in place.

Obi-Wan was snoring softly, drifting in a drug-induced sleep, recovering from his ordeal at those very hands. 

Irdak had refused the sleeping aid, preferring to stay awake and watch over his beloved’s sleep, unwilling to let his senses take leave of Obi-Wan’s presence even for a second. 

The medical droids had been singularly unhelpful, but they had hesitantly declared Obi-Wan generally viable. It had taken the combined efforts of Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan himself to convince Irdak that the thing he had done had been the only thing he could have done, and that the life force he had ripped from Obi-Wan had not been wasted.

It was his now, a quivering strand in the bond they shared, a searing blue that hurt to look at but felt electrifying to have and to hold.

_You are my Light_ , he had said, and the smile in Obi-Wan’s eyes had shone more intensely than the brightest sun, before succumbing once again to exhaustion and sedatives.

The depth of Obi-Wan’s drug-induced sleep meant he would not be woken by the muffled noises of Irdak’s tinkering in the tight space of their shared cabin. Electronics were quiet work, but there was only so much that could be done silently about the sorry state of the casing - and pink plastic was certainly not going to be an option.

It looked more than a little rough around the edges, held together with solder and spare wire, like the trash magic that it, in essence, was. It looked dark and mechanical and as elegant as he could make it given the circumstances, and it fitted over the back of his hand like a sinister, gleaming glove.

He stroked a fingertip along its surface, activating the vibration, and smiled as his entire right hand came alive with a quivering energy, a soft, bone-deep tingling that, he suspected, would eventually make _his_ hand go numb but would give Obi-Wan the wake-up call of a lifetime wrapped around his most delicate parts.

_Instruments of delicious destruction_. He’d honestly forgotten who had been the first to refer to his hands that way - and it didn’t matter. Whoever had said it had been right. 

And the sight of Obi-Wan surfacing from deep sleep into the throes of a full-body orgasm would be well worth losing a night of sleep.

Smiling wistfully, Irdak turned off the soldering iron, the bedside lamp, and his right hand, and curled around Obi-Wan for a few moments’ rest.


End file.
